A Very Human Vegas
by Basmathgirl
Summary: Donna inserted into "Human Nature", basically. This time, she has already met the Doctor and 'fallen' for him; yet hasn't met up with him again. Instead she is commissioned by T & R Dimensions to travel across the world to Las Vegas to become the PA to a rising magic act called Peter Vincent. [Ten/Donna. Rated M purely because it's Peter Vincent]
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** contains some swearing.  
 **Disclaimer:** I still own some postcards featuring Criss Angel from when I last went to Las Vegas and not much else here.  
 **A/N:** posted today in order to commemorate both **alimoseby** and **mirthfulwoman** 's birthdays! Hope you had a great time.

* * *

 **A Very Human Vegas**

 **Part 1**

.

It had been a hard year to cope with so far. The regret she had immediately felt at turning down the Doctor had been put on hold while she dealt with her father's death; and she had spent the vast majority of the time since trawling the internet or physically investigating any strange sightings.

To be honest, she needed the money when the employment agency phoned her with a new job placement. Personal finances meant that she had to answer the call when it rang, but the perfect timing and coincidence of the latest location stunned her to her very core.

"Pardon. Where did you say?" Donna Noble sought to confirm what she thought she had just heard the woman from the temping agency tell her. Logic told her she _must_ have misheard.

On the other end of the telephone line, Angela Mulligan at the local branch of the Alfred Marks Bureau slowly repeated the location. "Las Vegas, Nevada, in the United States of America. They seem very keen to get you. I have in my hand all the flight details and a work visa for you to arrive the day after tomorrow. I'm sending you it through right this second."

Milliseconds later an email popped up in Donna's computer inbox, proclaiming all sorts of things. Scanning it quickly, she couldn't help wondering, "What if this isn't legit and they are slave traders?"

"It all checks out," Angela assured her. "A three-month contract to start with the possibility of more should it work out well."

Still flabbergasted, Donna thanked her, and returned her attention to the details in the email. The company hiring her was called T & R Dimensions, and they wanted her to be a PA to a stage entertainer. It was certainly something very different to what she was used to, but it all still boiled down to the same basics principles. Shouldn't be too difficult to cope with. Apart from the heat. The average daily temperature was at least twelve degrees more than she was used to, but places there had air conditioning. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

And who knew, she might end up meeting a rich man who was keen to waste millions of dollars on her? It had happened to other women. Other, younger and better-looking women, a tiny voice pointed out; but she didn't let that burst her excited bubble. She was going to Las Vegas! And life didn't get better than that.

* * *

A wall of heat hit Donna as she stepped out of the air-conditioned airport. Not even noon yet and it was baking hot. She quickly prayed that she would learn how to tan sufficiently before she went home otherwise she was in for weeks of sunburn at this rate.

The queue at the taxi rank wasn't too long, considering, and she was soon on her way, chatting with the driver about what it was like to work on the peripheries of The Strip.

Stay out of trouble, seemed to be the basic advice. And she was sure she was given the scenic route to the hotel because it hadn't looked that far from the airport on the map. Never mind. You only get to see a place with fresh eyes the one time. And the whole city seemed like an adult themed Disneyland from what she could tell.

The biggest problem she could foresee was adjusting her body clock to deal with the rampant time zone difference, unless she worked nights. Might be a possibility if she asked nicely.

The Hiddleston Hotel was a newly reconditioned, London themed hotel, with a recreated Trafalgar Square and everything you stereotypical crammed into a small space. The receptionist pointed Donna towards the back of the hotel where the theatre lay.

"They're rehearsing so just go in and introduce yourself," she was told.

Walking into the semi-gloom, Donna noted that it looked like a cross between a London theatre Edwardian theatre and a Butlins holiday camp ballroom. As long as she wasn't expected to get up and perform she was fine with it.

It wasn't hard to notice the only other person present. Sitting in one of the front seats looking utterly bored out of her cranium was a beautiful woman who couldn't have been older than her mid-twenties.

This was it, show time, Donna told herself as she moved forward to introduce herself. "Hello. I'm Donna. I believe you were expecting me."

The woman instantly leapt up out of her seat in sheer delight. "Donna! Thank goodness you came. I'm Martha. Martha Jones and I've been trying to be Peter's PA until now."

"Been having problems?"" Donna knowingly asked and chided herself for being relieved the woman had a London accent. She laughed when Martha nodded. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long." Martha admitted, "Just a couple of days but already I'm swamped by it."

"Never mind. Supertemp is here," Donna joked, pointing at herself. "Shall we meet everyone else?"

"Oh yes," Martha agreed, remembering her manners. "Peter is still choosing his assistants. He was back here a minute ago."

She led the way and drew back part of the stage curtain. Behind it, they found a tall, thin, middle-aged man covered in black with most of his features hidden by his long black hair and facial hair. The un-Laughing Cavalier, Donna instantly thought as she viewed him. He was leaning with one hand against the scenery, trapping a young girl somewhere in her late teens. Apprehension mixed with excitement flashed across the girl's face.

"There you are, Martha," the man casually declared in a London accent. He was totally unfazed at being caught in his flirtatious act. "Mandi here has agreed to join us."

"Then I'll make sure Brandi is added to the list," Martha gently corrected. "If you'd come with me to costume, Brandi." Two steps away, Martha briefly halted and informed him, "Almost forgot to tell you, Peter. Your temp PA from London has arrived. Meet Donna."

Left on their own to finish the introductions, Donna didn't know whether to shake his hand or slap him for being such an obvious sexist pig. Instead, she nodded. "Hello. I'm Donna Noble."

"Donna!" he joyfully exclaimed. "Good to meet you."

Then to her horror, he grabbed her into a bone crushing hug.

"Hands!" she yelped as she felt his palms land on her bottom. For good measure, she added a whack to his forearms.

"Alright. No need to get physical," he grouched. "I get the picture. No touching." He then grinned disarmingly at her. "I'm your boss: Peter Vincent."

"Good. I'm glad we've got that sorted out. I'm here to do a job, not get touched up. How old was that girl, by the way?"

"What, Mandi?" he queried with a faint point in the direction she'd gone.

"Yes, Brandi," Donna corrected.

"Oh, old enough," he nonchalantly answered.

So Donna glared at him. "She's a child, barely old enough to wipe her own bum. So I'll be watching you, mister."

"This is Las Vegas, not London, so anything goes."

"From what I've seen, the ethos of this hotel is British. London in particular so I don't care what child abuse-allowing laws exist here. I will not tolerate such behaviour. Understood?"

Now blazing with anger, Peter retorted, "Yes Mum. Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here, telling me how to behave?"

"I'm the PA you just had especially flown out from Heathrow to get your act together," she countered.

Conceding she had a valid point, he bit back, "Fine! But don't expect me to become a fucking monk while we're here."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied. "As long as you pick someone legal without exploiting her, we'll get on like a house on fire."

"There'll be fucking fireworks; I can see that happening," he mumbled to himself. "Come on then, Donna Noble, eminent PA of this parish. I'll show you where the office and everything is. No doubt you'll want to spin your spider's web up there and snare some other poor sod."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," she irritatingly agreed just to rile him further. It was best that she put her foot down with him as soon as possible otherwise she'd be up to her ears with grieving teens and their mothers, all wanting revenge.

Soon her mood brightened when they entered her assigned office space and later viewed her accommodation. All of it was modern, well equipped and a dream location. As for her boss, Peter was a bit of an untamed piglet, but she felt that she could soon train him into being a decent human being. Yes, she could definitely count her blessings.

* * *

Two weeks later, Donna was not quite so sure she was blessed any more.

Looking out of her tinted bedroom window, she could see the airport in the distance, and the numerous planes either taking off or landing. It was a constant reminder how transient this location was. For that reason, she was determined to make the most of this three-month position.

When she had first arrived there, the sight of the hotel across the road had made her gasp in wonder. The whole thing was based on a pyramid and brought to mind her recent trip to Egypt on her not-honeymoon. It would have been better if she could have found someone to share it all with her but alas none of her friends could get the necessary time off or could afford it. At least here, in Las Vegas, the people could speak English and you didn't have the sneaky feeling they were trying to rip you off. No, all of that was saved for when you went into the gambling casinos.

Anyway. Her accommodation was nice, and she was sharing with another Brit: Martha. Donna soon found out that Martha Jones had been previously studying to become a doctor. A major step-down working for some magician as his gofer, first aider, and health and safety consultant.

To be honest, Donna suspected there was more to it than that. Okay, she knew it was. For one thing, Martha fluttered around their employer, Peter Vincent, as though he was a god; which he certainly was not.

The thought of him made her sigh in exasperation. The git!

Some men are subtle, sneaking around chasing any young girls, but he was blatant about it. It was as though he was addicted to flirting. She was sure other more intimate stuff was going on too. But strangely enough, he steered well clear of Martha apart from when he wanted to abuse her caring good nature in some way or other.

The hardest part about all this was Peter himself. He was handsome and very charming, as well as the growling talented perfectionist of the type she was used to working with, and actually had a strong preference for. You always knew where you stood and what the business goals were with such people. If he had merely gone through life cruising on his looks, she could have ignored it all and got on with her job. Her remarkably easy and enjoyable job. But his attitude irked her because of his looks. In short, if he wiped off the manscara, guyliner and black nail varnish he'd be the spitting image of the Doctor.

Of course, she'd tried to subtly ask Peter if he had any scientific relatives still living in the UK and gained a very frosty response that had unnerved her for some moments. His parents were dead, and there was no one else. End of, he had proclaimed.

"Take no notice of him. He's very touchy about his late family," Martha had consoled her when Peter stormed away in disgust. "It's one of the things he won't discuss."

Unfortunately, Donna had then taken that as a personal challenge. Not that he knew that. It was better that way. But she was aware when a soul was hurting, and Peter Vincent was an open book of hurt. If it took her the whole three months, she was determined to help him cope a little bit better. It was her forte, after all.

And the more she thought about it, the more it became obvious why Peter behaved in the cavalier way that he did. It was all a charade used as a coping mechanism. She could spot those a mile off. Everything about his appearance was intended to push away normal people; people who might want to love and cherish him. His style was intended to attract shallow fly-by-nights. From his tattoos, his facial hair, long leather coat, close-fitting trousers and down to his smarmy persona, everything was a mask; or an elaborate gilded cage, depending on how you wanted to view it.

As she had suspected, the more she tried to get him to trust her, the more he deliberately antagonised her in return.

"Ginger! Where are you, you silly cow?!" he yelled out, standing on the main stage of the hotel with a pile of papers in his hands.

If he wanted a slanging match she was more than willing to provide it. "Am I supposed to think you mean me, by any chance?" she loudly replied in the gloom. She walked forward into the footlights in order to be seen. "If it is, the name's Donna."

"Ah, there you are," he stated with some exasperation. "These forms needed to be filled in and submitted by today. Why the fuck haven't they been?"

She slowly placed her stiletto heel on the wooden steps that led up to him. "Stop climbing out of your pram," she chided, completely unfazed by his intimidating act. "What on Earth makes you think they haven't been?"

"Why?" he spat, shaking the papers in his hand in front of her eyes. "Why the fuck you think?! They were sitting on your desk doing sod all!"

"If you look at those papers," she carefully enunciated, "you'll find they are the ones from last year. The relevant ones for this year are currently sitting exactly where they should be, in County Hall."

All his fire diminished. "These are the wrong fucking ones?"

She nodded her head, trying not to be too smug about it.

"Oh," he murmured. "Then why the fuck didn't you tell me sooner?" he blazed.

Typical, she thought. He still had to goad her with something. "Perhaps you were too busy being an arse about it during the five seconds I've been here," she wondered with a shrug. "Who knows? Anyway, I'll get back to my desk, if that's alright with you, and sort out that rope supplier."

"Yes, that's fine." He glared at her.

"Okay. See you later. I'm making a pot of tea in a mo if you fancy one," she offered as she turned to leave. "Play nicely and I'll even rustle up a biscuit to go with it."

He tried to hide the beam of delight that lit up his eyes. "I might be in soon."

Yeah, Donna thought as she walked away, I bet you will.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** yes, I've decided to sort of follow "Human Nature" because it's more fun that way...

* * *

 **Part 2**

.

The sun was already beating down with a vengeance when Donna took possession of a poolside sun lounger early one morning. She'd been promising herself this little treat for days, and now was finally able to take advantage of the hotel amenities without instantly combusting.

After carefully applying some fifty-plus factor sun cream, Donna made sure her sunglasses were in place, her swimsuit wasn't showing anything it shouldn't have been, that the sun shade above her provided enough shade, and then laid down to enjoy a few sunrays. Ah! This was the life, she thought as she closed her eyes against the glare.

"I thought it was you I saw out the window. What the fuck are you doing out here?" a familiar male voice accused her.

She opened one eye to see Peter standing over her like the Sword of Damocles. "It's called 'sunbathing'. You might have heard of it in the dim distant past."

"Funny," he whined. "Honestly. Why aren't you in the office?"

Slowly rising into a seated position, she took off her sunglasses to glare at him. "If you ever cared to look at the office calendar you would see that I booked some time off today," she calmly stated.

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say to that. But for the love of him he couldn't wrench his gaze away from her uncovered body. It was the first time he'd ever seen her without her business attire on. "So… what are you doing?"

"I'm competing in the English Ten Pin Bowling Championship, obviously," she sarcastically replied. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Being man bait," he idly mumbled. "I mean," he quickly corrected himself, "I hope you have taken proper precautions."

"Are we talking with the man bait thing or sunburn?" she cheekily wondered, pleased to catch him off-guard. "Don't worry, I won't inconvenience you by getting sunstroke. I'm well aware, with my colouring, that I can't sit out here for long, but I wanted to grab some sun anyway." When he still stood there, unmoving she was compelled to ask, "Is this my hurry up call?"

That stunned him into action. "No. I just wondered why you were out here, like you do. How come you chose today to sit out here?"

"The opportunity finally arose to try out the pool, and you've probably noticed I'm keeping to British time when I can. Basically, I'm having a quick break before I take over from Martha. We take it in shifts to keep you going, as it were."

"I'm that much work, am I?" He smugly grinned at her.

"You wouldn't believe how long it takes to clear up after you. Twenty-four hours a day." She then turned the questioning around on him. "Shouldn't you be asleep in your lair by now? I'm trying to decide if you're a vampire or a bat with your nocturnal lifestyle."

He tried to shake it off, but he correctly guessed she had seen him wince. "Just thought I'd have a prebedtime stroll. And I didn't get to see you straight after the show."

"I'm surprised you noticed considering you were chatting up whatsherface the last time I saw you." She sighed, not wanting to start another argument along that route so she pointed to his face. "I like the new clean-shaven look. Suits you. What made you get rid of the beard?"

"I was fed up with it. I'm thinking of cutting my hair too. That way I can peel it all off as a disguise after the show. What do you think?"

"An excellent idea," she enthused. However, she did not mention how much it made him look like someone else entirely; unless she was projecting her wants onto him by seeing the similarity with the Doctor. It was possible, she told herself.

"Run along then, back to your rehearsals," she chivvied him. "Unless you're going to take my photo to blackmail me with later, I'll meet you back in the office for tea."

He nodded his head as she spoke. "See you at tea break, Ginger."

"It's Donna," she petulantly reminded him but all he did was chuckle as he walked away.

"Yeah, laugh it up, Goth boy," she commented to no one in particular. "Don't come crying to me when you have heatstroke from wearing all that black."

But all it did was amuse him even more, and he shot her a grin before disappearing from view, back into the building.

* * *

For the umpteenth time that morning, Peter chided himself for peering out the window towards the hotel swimming pool; and it wasn't even breakfast time yet. He knew he shouldn't be doing it, had even told himself and insisted quite loudly that he stop this mooning about immediately, yet here he was again with his nose pressed up against the glass like an adolescent with their first crush. Yes, he could hear her in his mind calling him that, amongst some other choice descriptions he'd heard her dish out over the past couple of weeks.

The thing was, he didn't even know what he saw in her. Okay, he'd allow the boobs being noteworthy because, quite frankly, they were prime specimens. And her long hair was a gorgeous shade of ginger. So what if he'd never known he had a fancy for all that? A diet of continuous blonde would be as monotonous as any other narrow diet. As for her advanced years, he wasn't completely blind to the delights of the older woman. Young girls had their obvious charms, but mature women in their thirties who shared common cultural references with him would always have a place in his life.

But she seemed to think he had a set type he was interested in, so he'd played up to that. Had virtually goaded her with it, he noted. It had been far too much fun to press her buttons with his youthful attentions. All those lovely young girls hadn't been a burden either, especially when they flattered his ego so. He'd thought that right up to the previous morning when he had deliberately followed Donna out to the poolside in order to tease her, and found he was mocking himself even more.

It couldn't go badly... Could it? I mean, it wasn't as though Donna could storm off out of her three-month contract as his PA, because she'd be mad to do that. Wouldn't she?

Oh dear. He could hear the forlorn tone in his thoughts. What on earth was happening to him? It just wasn't like him to get hung up on some woman; especially a freckled old Londoner with legs up to her armpits and a caring soft side that made him go weak at the knees. No, he was merely projecting his personal needs onto her. Yes, that was it; he was responding to her innate maternal protectiveness. He'd seen her defending all the girls, and now he wanted a spot of that for himself. Simple.

A sudden ginger blur outside, down on the steps to the pool, had him racing out into the early morning sunlight. By the time he found her, she was already reclining on a sun lounger beneath a sunshade.

"Well, well, well," she greeted him with amusement, "look who's turned up. Careful Peter, you almost escaped all the black for a moment."

"What, this?" He glanced down at his clothing. Surely it wasn't that revolutionary? A bit different, definitely. "Just something I found and threw on."

"Did the baseball cap fall on you too," she wondered with a knowing smirk.

Walking towards her was an almost unrecognisable man wearing a loud blue and black abstract print Hawaiian style shirt, black Bermuda shorts, and black espadrilles on his feet. His hair was pulled back beneath a black baseball cap, and his eyes covered by what were no doubt expensive designer sunglasses.

"You've got..." She pointed vaguely towards his feet. "You've got two pieces of white string hanging down from your shorts," she mocked him.

"Ha ha ha," he pretended to laugh, and plonked himself down onto the sun lounger beside her; taking effort to adjust the sunshade to screen himself. "Just because you are trying to ignore my manly hairy legs," he accused.

"Those are legs?" She leaned closer to examine them in wonder. "So they are."

"Laugh it up, Noble," he grouched good humouredly when she chuckled. "I could say something similar about yours."

And that's when his gaze unwisely landed on her naked legs. Mainly because his gaze then took a saunter up the rest of her reclined figure, causing her to protectively fold her arms and legs across her body. Not that he would reveal how much her arms the framed her revealed assets, of course.

She glared at him. "Before you complain about me sitting around doing nothing, I plan to be dressed and back in the office within the next hour. Until then, you can pretend you are a normal human being and chat for half an hour."

"Chat," he baulked. "How do you do that?"

"Lesson one: ask simple questions," she goaded him. "Things like favourite colours but since I know the answer to that one I'll start with something else. Why the sudden change of style?"

Biting back on the truth, he offered, "It's hot."

"No kidding, Sherlock. Never stopped you wearing leather before," she countered.

"Okay. I'm in disguise."

She nodded. "I can believe that. Got another mother chasing you, have you? Quite frankly, I'm getting a bit sick of those 'he distracted my daughter away' phone calls. Which reminds me to tell you that I got another one last night."

"Did you?" This would not do his reputation with her any good at all. "You never said."

"Well, the mother was a bit of an idiot, to be honest," she informed him, relaxing into a more comfortable position. "I had her calling you all the names under the sun for getting her daughter pregnant."

"What!" he gasped in horror.

"Don't worry, it wasn't you," she consoled him with a brief pat on the hand. "As I pointed out to the woman, you weren't here four months ago, and it is impossible to impregnate someone via a signed photo." Donna snorted her scorn. "She still didn't believe me though."

"I know I'm powerful in that department," he boasted, "but not quite that much."

"Is that what you're telling yourself?" she muttered, unable to hold back the tease. "I thought you were covering up something you've not been telling us."

He frowned. "Like what?"

"Well, you never have to actually _perform_ , do you. All those little girls are happy with only a hug and a smile." She then held up her hands in surrender. "Not that I'm accusing you of being all style and no substance..."

"Except that you are."

"Would never dream of it," she confirmed, giving him a cheeky wink. "Now, do you want some of my sun cream before you burn to a frazzle or shall I book you in for some nice sunstroke later on?"

"I'll go back in. I think you've burned me enough."

"Aww, you spoil all my fun." A sudden thought struck her about the day before. "Did you get the hair cut you were talking about?" she wondered.

In answer, he took off his baseball cap to reveal a brand new, short and bouncy style. "What do you think?" he asked when all she did was gasp.

"Much better," she forced herself to say, while she was mentally reeling at the familiar features he'd revealed. He not only looked like the Doctor, he could have been closely related to him. Everybody has their doppelgängers, she told herself; at least seven, according to QI. "How does it feel without all that hair?"

"Lighter," he admitted, and laughed. "Like I'm not quite myself when I look in the mirror."

"That makes two of us wondering if you're not all there," she joked, and was pleased to not receive an angry reaction. You never quite knew how Peter would react.

"You're different today too," he noted, taking in her change of attire. This time she had a camisole top and shorts on as she sunbathed. "No swimming costume?"

"No time to swim and then dry my hair properly today," she supplied, "but I'll throw a beach dress over this in a mo for work."

"There's no need to cover up for my benefit," he offered in friendly tones. No need at all, he mentally tacked on. He'd be quite happy to look at her legs all day long if the swell of her bust hadn't caught his attention.

"Yes, well, some of us have to worry about others looking," she blustered. "Too much of my pale flesh would blind them."

He leaned close to cheekily whisper, "Any time you fancy blinding me, you go right ahead."

How else could she reply to him without a quick swat to the arm and a change of subject. "I suppose I'd better go and pay some of your suppliers' invoices."

"That would help," he agreed, pulling himself up to stand by her side. "Come on, Donna," he chivvied, holding out a hand to help her up. "Time to go back to work. Play time is over." As she rose, he pulled her close to whisper, "If you fancy playing with my ball, just let me know."

Laughing, she batted at his shoulder. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

When he replied, "No. Only you," she was shocked.

What was she suddenly getting herself into? There was no way he could be genuinely interested in her, so that left him trying out his charm to be friendly. Yes, she decided that was it. This was them forming a friendship; and she quite liked how that made her feel.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** hello to the handful of people actually reading this! I need to hide inside this fic for a while, so thank you for staying with me.

* * *

 **Part 3**

.

A quick phone call to the office from Allison down in the theatre, late one afternoon, alerted Donna to a possible, and ongoing problem. "He's having another go at her."

* * *

"What about this time?" she tiredly wondered.

"Something about not sorting out the right safety wires for the coffins, from what Jed told me," Allison supplied. "He reckons Peter did it to show off who's in charge."

Her fist balled in readiness to whack him one. "Don't worry. I'll go and see if she's alright; and then I'll tackle his high-and-mightiness," Donna promised. She then phoned his mobile to have a go, but it went straight to voicemail, much to her disgust. "I want a word with you, mister," she threatened, "so no running off."

Then she had the satisfaction of slamming the phone receiver down. Not quite the same high as slapping him personally, but it would have to do for now. Her focus for the time being was on poor Martha so she hurried to see her.

She eventually found her at their home. "You alright, Martha?" she asked as she entered their allotted apartment. "You don't look well at all."

Hunched over at the dining table, Martha clasped a hand to her forehead in self-comfort. "I don't feel well, to be honest. Got a bit of a headache."

"Here, let me," Donna offered, and bustled about finding some paracetamol and a cold drink for her friend. "Take this," she softly ordered, handing over the items.

"Thanks," Martha acknowledged and dutifully took the pills.

Sitting down beside her, Donna queried, "What's he been getting you to do today? No doubt something not worth your time."

"Something like that," Martha admitted with a small smile. "At least things have been a lot better since you started working here."

"Really?!" She could hardly believe it.

"Yes," Martha hummed with feeling. "He's mellowed now that you're on his case."

"If he explodes again at you, you just let me know," Donna commanded. "All of that crap he gives you is so unnecessary."

"Will do," Martha promised.

* * *

Once she was satisfied Martha was settled with a comfy cushion to rest her head on, Donna went off to confront Peter.

He was standing in his theatre dressing room with his latest conquest, a vulnerable late teen called Lorie who had arrived from Los Angeles a few days beforehand. She was a talented dancer, and not a bad singer, but Donna suspected these weren't the reasons she had been chosen to join the show.

"Well hello!" Peter greeted Donna, keeping his arm tightly wrapped around the young blonde's waist. "Come to join us?"

But Donna was not in the mood to put up with his normal shenanigans. "You disgust me," she hissed at him. "All you care about is this ridiculous front you put on for these children."

"Children?" he protested, releasing his hold. "They are of age."

"And so is the block of stilton cheese I bought Gramps for Christmas, but that don't mean I want to touch it, let alone should," she snapped back. "These girls are still wet behind the ears and I bet you don't even know this girl's name."

"Yes I do," he countered, "she's called... Tammy?" He scrunched his face up in hope as the girl scowled. "Toni, T-something or other. I give up. What was it?" he asked the young woman now eyeing him with disdain.

"Lorie," she petulantly supplied, and ducked away from his arm that had sought her out again. "It's not that hard to remember."

"It is when you're off your face on alcohol," Donna muttered deliberately loud enough for Peter to hear. "Don't worry, Lorie. You'll be old enough to forget loads of things one day."

"Oi!" Peter complained. "Who are you calling 'old'?"

Taking that as her cue, Donna swivelled on the spot and made a show of looking for someone. "There's no one else here," she noted, gaining the laugh she had wanted from Lorie. "Must be you," she pointed out to him.

"So fucking funny," he huffed, walking away from the pair of women. "I wanted a PA, not a sarcastic bitch."

"Shouldn't have ordered one from London then," Donna called out after him. "Big mistake," she added, throwing her hands wide in demonstration. "And while we're on the subject, stop picking on Martha or I'll have your guts for garters!"

"I never picked on her, you silly cow!" he argued. "She doesn't know her arse from her elbow."

"Body parts she's fine with. It's your stupidity that's the problem, so unless you want a punch in the face, leave her alone," Donna threatened.

Defeated, Peter merely stuck two fingers up at her as he disappeared from sight.

She then turned to Lorie and smiled broadly. "Anyway… Fancy going to get a coffee or something cold? Dunno about you but I'm gasping."

Pleased to gain this welcomed attention from this new idol in her life, Lorie readily gushed, "Sure!"

* * *

A terrified young woman burst into Donnas office one morning a week or so later; and cried, "It's Peter. I can't wake him up. Quick, come and help him."

Trying not to run like a banshee, Donna attempted to prepare herself for what might meet them. "What were you doing immediately beforehand?"

"I was going to make coffee."

Not exactly the life-threatening behaviour she'd been expecting to hear about. "Had you been there all night?"

"No." The woman then blushed. "Did you think him and me...?"

"It's not entirely impossible for such a thing to happen," Donna suggested as they walked quickly towards his rooms.

Obviously wanting to clear her name, the woman explained, "He wanted to go through my bit as I leave the coffin."

"Oh," Donna answered. That seemed to cover it for the time being. She didn't want details of his sex life anyway, especially since she didn't have one of her own. "Come on, Martha. Pick up," she begged her phone instead as the ring tone carried on. "Sod it! I'll try again in a minute. Typical him to choose the one day she has off."

The woman was running by this point and called back to Donna as she entered his apartment, "Here he is."

At least her scuba diving training meant that she knew basic first aid, so with an almost expert hand Donna sought out the pulse on the slumped figure on a large fireside leather chair. "It's okay Marcie, he's still breathing. Let's get a proper look at him."

Marcie stood with her hands clenched in front of her mouth. "Will he be okay?"

As Donna gently moved his head the smell of alcohol was all too evident on his breath. "Yes, but can you go and wake Martha for me, just in case. She's in number nine."

"Just out there?" Marcie sought to confirm. Glad now that things weren't as bad as she had previously thought, she rushed away to be helpful.

Back in Peter's apartment, Donna still had her hands on his head, keeping it upright and his airway clear. "Oh Peter. Why have you done this to yourself?" she softly quizzed him. Unable to resist, she gently combed her fingers through his hair to put the hairstyle back into its usual position. "Are things really that bad for you?"

He gave a soft moan that amused her immensely.

"Is it?" she sort of answered him. "Well I can see my work being cut out for me making sure you don't hit the bottle again."

His eyes suddenly opened, and his confused gaze took her in. "What's happened? Why are you here?"

She quickly released her hold and stepped away. "You're frightening the help again," she supplied. "What have you been drinking?"

"Oh... I don't know." His mind fumbled for the relevant information. "Whiskey. Drambuie. Some Midori. Okay, a lot of Midori. Is that a problem?"

"It is if you have to work the following morning," she replied. "I'll get some coffee on and then give you something to help with that hangover. Won't be long."

"Thanks," he mumbled as he cradled his head. "For doing this."

"All part of being a PA," she consoled him as she bustled about, seeking out where he'd left stuff. "Blimey, you don't cater much for visitors, do you," she commented as her rifling proved unfruitful. "Ah hah! Coffee," she declared when she found it. "I might have to pop along to ours for some other stuff."

"What sort of other stuff?" he wondered.

"Your basic food groups, milk, paracetamol; you know. Stuff like that," she retorted, switching on his coffee machine with a flourish. "I dunno," she sighed fondly. "You don't half need looking after."

"I'm not a fucking kid," he stated.

Taking in his half naked torso, she mumbled, "I can see that." Hard not to, really. "But," she continued, "you've not been exactly kind to your health."

"It can cope on its own."

She could have sworn she had heard a pout in his answer. "Nevertheless, I don't want my reputation ruined by you dying on me."

"Ah, so sweet," he sarcastically replied.

"I know," she teased in return, "I'm all heart. We've actually got bread in our apartment so I'll go and get some slices to make you some toast. Once I've done that, do you want me to leave you in the care of Marcie or would you rather have some other arrangement?"

You stay with me, flashed through his mind but he hastily pushed it away. "I'll be alright on my own."

"Righto." She nodded in understanding. "I'll shoo her away and let you get some proper sleep. But before you protest, you are having dinner later with me and Martha. Is that understood?"

He wanted to laugh with delight, but his head could hardly cope with a smile at the moment. "Since you insist. I almost think you like me."

"Who me?" she queried. "Nah! I'm paid to care."

However, he wasn't convinced. The little wink she'd given him betrayed her good intentions, so he quite happily waited for her return.

* * *

"Where's my penknife?" Peter demanded as he entered the office late one morning. "I've caught this fish hook on my fucking thumb," he grumbled, giving his offended digit a suck to mop up the blood.

"Shouldn't you get Martha to look at that?" Donna queried as she rose to see. "It could be serious."

"MARTHA!" he immediately yelled. "You're needed. Now!"

Martha instantly swept into the office, all in a flutter. "Oh my God! You've hurt yourself. Let me see." She gently took hold of his hand and examined the damage. "We'll need to remove this. Let me find something."

Donna sought out the Band-Aids while Martha dealt with the hook removal. Finding the packet surprisingly empty, she sighed.

Hearing this, Peter rounded on Martha. "Go and get some more, you silly cow! Why the fuck did you let them get all used up?"

"I'll go right away," Martha meekly offered.

"Hang on! No, you don't, sunshine," Donna protested, stepping into Peter's line of fire. "Martha isn't going anywhere today; specially to do some little errand for you."

"Little errand. Little errand!" Peter blazed at her, right in her face. "Dealing with health and safety is her fucking job. She a special snowflake or something? Because I never agreed to that!"

"It is also her birthday, so lay off!" Donna tetchily advised. "I'll go and get you some plasters if you're that desperate for them; but whatever happens, Martha won't be running around after you today. Have you got that loud and clear?!"

After a few seconds, he roared, "Make sure you get the decent ones! None of that own brand crap."

And then he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"I never got the chance to pull the hook out of his finger," Martha noted.

"He'll be back in a minute. Just you see," Donna confidently predicted.

She was bent over, sorting through a filing drawer, when she felt a presence behind her. "Yes?" Turning, she spotted Peter. "What's the matter?" she asked him.

In return, she was surprised to see him look contrite. "Sorry about shouting at you earlier. I got my finger sorted out." He held up the offended digit in demonstration.

"And what about Martha?" she wondered, as she deliberately stepped around him to put her papers down. "Hopefully she got an apology too."

"Is it really her birthday?" he quietly wondered.

Donna nodded. "You've messed up big time. But I know how you can make it up to her."

"How?" he inevitably asked.

"By taking her to this…" Donna then slammed a gilded invite card onto the desk top before him. "Tomorrow's annual award ceremony shindig."

He sneered his contempt. "And why do I have to do that?"

"Because Martha is a beautiful girl, and every woman should get the chance to glam up once in a while."

After a moment's hesitation, he softly countered, "What if I don't want to take her? I might have someone else in mind."

"Oh?" She stood still to contemplate him. "Who are you thinking of taking instead?"

You. "I'm not sure yet, if I go."

"Then the least you can do is pay out for her to celebrate her birthday tonight. We're going to that fish restaurant around the corner, so a donation from you would be lovely." She then held out her palm in invitation.

"Alright," he grumbled, pulling out his wallet. "Just don't go on about it later."

Taking his money, she commented, "That'll do nicely."


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

.

Having finished removing all his stage makeup after his show, Peter considered what he should do next. Should he give in to his impulse and go seek out his office girls? Surely it would be alright for him to appear and wish Martha a happy birthday, he reasoned. It couldn't do any harm.

With the decision made, he started to walk through the hotel towards the restaurant where they had said they'd be eating. But he hadn't got further than a few metres away from the theatre when he spotted Donna sitting on a seat in an almost deserted space, gazing forlornly ahead.

Nothing on Earth would have stopped him from walking over to offer some comfort. As it was, he had to dampen down his instinct to sweep her up into his protective embrace to chase away her blues. Instead, he plonked himself down onto the nearest empty seat right beside her and asked, "Everything alright?"

"Yes." She gave a despondent sniff. "No. I don't know." When he didn't press for more details but just sat waiting patiently, she continued, "If you must know, I think the wedding chapel over there is mocking me." She pointed to the hotel wedding chapel that sat about ten metres away from where they sat; next to a Cornish pasty shop and opposite a Wimpey burger bar.

He turned his head towards the large carved wooden doors and couldn't see why such an innocent room would mock someone. Okay, the design of Westminster Abbey was a bit much plastered all over the wall, but other than that, it was harmless. If you liked that sort of thing.

"I don't understand," he admitted. "Why would you think that thing is mocking you?"

She flashed him a wan smile. "Of course, you wouldn't know, would you. I was supposed to get married last Christmas."

Instantly, he felt anger and jealousy rise within him. "Why didn't you?"

"He ran off with someone else," she confessed in a low voice, averting her gaze to the pretend cobbled floor. "And I missed out on the only bloke who'd wanted me by their side. It proved once and for all that no one will ever want to marry me."

"I'm sure that's not true," he retorted.

"No, it is," she insisted, lifting her gaze to him. "Look at tonight. Me and Allison from the box office took Martha out for a meal, thanks in part to you. Some blokes at the bar came over and started chatting to us." When he winced, she assured him, "It's alright, they were nice and respectful. We had a laugh, a few drinks, and arranged to meet up properly once we'd eaten."

He forced himself to sympathetically ask, "So what went wrong?"

"Me, as usual." She took in a calming breath. "They wanted to take Martha and Allison off to some nightclub or other, but me… They weren't interested. It was obvious. So I lied about having a headache and needing to go home, and let them get on with it. I came down here to get a cold drink, and I'm suddenly faced with the Las Vegas symbol of romance and love everlasting."

"The hotel wedding chapel," he finished for her.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Mocking me."

The next move he made had to be carefully planned, he knew that. He wasn't completely daft. "In an ideal world, what would you do next?" he enquired.

"What, you're going to find me a blushing bridegroom all of a sudden?" she softly taunted him.

"It could be arranged," he slowly replied.

"Oh you!" she laughed, swatting playfully at his arm. "Very funny."

But he didn't mind. He loved to see the smile return to her face and light up her eyes. "How about I take you somewhere, right now? A club or a bar? Wherever you like, and I could do with a proper drink before bed."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You make that sound saucy."

"It can be as innocent or saucy as you like. So what do you say? Fancy a little celebration of our own?"

"Yeah," she agreed, brightening defiantly. "Why not. We can be our own little lonesome club."

It took no time at all, and hardly any effort, for them to gain entry into the hotel nightclub. The bouncer at the door merely waved them in once he spotted Peter.

The pulsing beat of the dance music made being able to hear any conversation impossible as he held Donna's hand tightly to lead her through the packed throng of young people. But it also made being very close together a necessity whilst exchanging opinions.

He led them straight into the centre of the dancing crowd before turning to push his body against hers. It took a couple of attempts for him to be heard once he placed his lips next to her ear. "Do you want a drink or a dance first?"

"Dance." She experimentally tried dancing with him first but holding onto a handbag wasn't a great idea at the best of times, and she had nowhere to safely leave it. "My bag keeps getting in the way," she had to almost yell into his ear. "Perhaps we should only get a drink?"

Resigned to it being a bad idea, he thought of a more comfortable venue. "I know somewhere that might be better," Peter offered. "Do you like the Beatles?"

Fortunately, she did, so he swept them out of the club and pulled her towards The Cavern; an intimate hotel bar on a different level of The Hiddleston, where a tribute band were playing. In next to no time they were seated together on a circular padded bench, with a drink before them, listening to an excellent modern version of the Beatles, and best of all, where Peter was concerned, he had his arm flung casually but protectively around Donna's shoulders.

"This is lovely," she thanked him, and allowed herself to lean in a bit to pretend this was a genuine date rather than mates enjoying a venue.

When he joined in singing along with her to the familiar tunes, she could have easily kissed him in thanks too. Not many blokes would do that sort of thing with you.

"You're a bit of a conundrum, aren't you," she commented during a brief lull that gave room for another quick sip of her drink.

His dark soulful eyes bore into her. "Why d'you say that?" he breathily wondered.

"Well, look at you," she invited. "You spend all day putting on a crappy sexist pig front, but come the night-time, you turn into this caring friend with a heart of gold. You're like a weird Cinderella, except it happens after midnight instead of before. Why do you keep it under wraps so much? I mean, I can understand not wanting to get hurt but, you let people think entirely the wrong thing."

Completely right and yet you still can't see, he thought. "I'm only doing the same sort of thing you do."

That caught her interest. "What exactly do you think I'm doing?" she asked with more force than she'd anticipated.

"I'm not saying you live a lie as much as I do," he quickly back-pedalled, "I meant this; here and now."

"Are you suggesting I don't really like the Beatles? Because I assure you I do."

Neat deflection, he mentally noted. "I'm saying," he gently insisted, idly plucking up a lock of her hair to toy with, "that you are telling yourself that no man could possibly be interested in you when you're sitting here like this with me."

Her eyes glanced towards his fingers twirling a ginger curl around them. "So what; you've got a thing for my hair. Not exactly a marriage proposal. Blokes often like long hair on a woman."

To prove his point, he ghosted his lips over her earlobe. "Yes, completely meaningless," he pretended to agree as his breath wafted across her cheek.

This was getting uncomfortable, and it was time to open her questioning, she decided. "Come on then, tell me, why all the drinking?"

The lock of hair was dismissed. "I don't drink a lot," he protested.

"I think you do," she insisted. "And I reckon whatsherface from the other morning thinks you do too."

He turned his face away from her to stare at nothing. "I don't want to talk about it."

Now how should she play this without spooking him? "It's not as though I'm going to judge you any harsher, and you've already heard my tale of woe tonight so it's only fair that you share yours. And I already know you are trying to hide a deep hurt, the injustice of which makes you really angry."

"How did you know that?" he accused, turning back to glare.

"It's not exactly rocket science, is it," she countered. "Coping and forgetting can be very destructive things. I've lost a few important events in my own life thanks to being hungover."

He chuckled wryly into his drink. "We make a right pair together, don't we? I suppose the bare basics of it are that I'm lonely."

"How can you be lonely?" she reasoned. "You have a constant bevy of blondes and brunettes parading through your bedroom, and you've got Martha at other times. Although I'll never understand how you can resist her considering how much she adores you."

"I'm just not interested in her," he reluctantly confessed, "and I'm not quite sure why."

"Obviously can't see a good thing when she's under your nose," Donna retorted. "She's wasted on you."

"Thanks, Dr Ruth," he pithily replied.

"I never said I knew all the answers," she defended herself. "It's just easier to understand other people's love lives rather than sort out your own."

"Which brings us nicely back to you," he stated with glee. "Shall we make a move?" he invited with a lift of his eyes.

She nodded in agreement to his request that they leave. "Don't start," she partially begged, standing up to go home. "My mother has covered all that ground with a fine toothcomb in the past. Why do you think I run away to here for a while?"

They laughed together in joint regret as they made their way out into the enclosed night air.

"Why do you think Martha has such a thing for me?" he wondered, offering his arm for Donna to hold. "It's not as though I encourage her or anything."

"Gawd knows," she sympathised. "Unless you genuinely are following the 'play it mean to keep them keen' line."

"Which I assure you I am not," he insisted, and stopped momentarily to guide her across a flight of steps. "I flirt, I'll admit that, and can be persuaded to do a lot of things when I'm drunk, but I don't play silly buggers." Taking another step closer, he asked the question he'd been dying to know: "What do you think of me?"

"A complete basket case, obviously," she immediately joked. "Not bad looking with the odd moment of charm, but you worry me with your destructive tendencies."

"Are you saying you'd never consider me?" he tried not to squeak.

"No." She shook her head. "I'm nowhere near your type especially if you're turning your nose up at Martha. I suspect you want me to be your pseudo big sister, but that's about it. You can't expect everyone to allow themselves to fall drastically in love with you. From what I've seen it's a dangerous game."

Oh. What could he say to alter her viewpoint? Instead, he opened the door that led into the inner sanctum of The Hiddleston Hotel and their home.

"Has all this got something to do with that lad who visited you again? Charlie Brewster, or something like that, he was called." When he gazed at her in shock, she added, "I noticed that you seem more agitated after his visits."

"He makes me think about my family; how they died; how this whole fucking mess began," he bitterly spat out.

She placed a tender hand upon his shoulder. "If you want to tell me, I'll listen."

"I'd rather forget."

"Yes, I got that message, loud and clear. But it ain't working very well for you, is it."

So he took her hand and held it within his as they entered the lift that would take them upwards to their temporary homes, giving her hand a soft squeeze. "When it stops being too dangerous, perhaps I will. Until then, please be my friend."

"Of course," she cheerily assured him. Being a bloke's friend was the easiest job in the world for her. She'd had years of practise. "If you can't tell me that, then why are you such an arse towards Martha?"

Snorting his disdain, he confessed, "That one is easy. I wish she didn't waste herself on me, and she isn't..."

"Isn't who?" she pressed when he didn't finish.

The lift tinged to announce the correct floor. The corridor before them seemed cold, unfamiliar and dark as they stepped out.

"I can't remember," he near whispered. "Sometimes I dream about her, but it's all ghosts and smoke that drifts through your fingers."

Lucky bitch, Donna couldn't help thinking. Obviously, there'd been someone held in his heart after all. Sometimes she wished she wasn't so great at guessing these things. Suck it up and deal with it, she chided herself. "Then I'll have to help you find out, won't I. After all, that's what good friends do."

"Thank you, Donna." He beamed a huge smile at her.

If that smile didn't confirm that this was a mates' date, then nothing would; and she resolved from here on in to quash every possible romantic notion she had about him. Of course, he wasn't interested in her. What had she been thinking?

"Which one of your many girlfriends are you thinking of taking to the award ceremony thing?" she asked to change the subject as they continued to walk home, still arm in arm.

"I'm beginning to think you're a bit keen to pair me off," he teased. "Shirking your duties already?"

"Well, you've only got a couple more weeks of me doing that, so make the most of it."

"I keep forgetting that you leave me soon," he noted.

"You make it sound like I'm abandoning you, when you know I was only booked for a couple of months. You'll go back to travelling with Martha, and I'll go back to..." Except, she didn't want to reveal the lonely quest she had waiting for her to resume it.

Sympathy oozed from him. "What's he like, this man you're going back to?"

"Dazzling, but don't let him know I said that," she admitted. "If I ever find him, of course. He's a bit elusive."

"Is he hiding from you?"

"No, nothing like that," she assured him. "But he _is_ taken so it'd be strictly platonic between us."

"That's not right. You deserve to be loved."

"Can you write that down so that I can show it to my mum?" she requested. "She tells me that I'm nothing but a disappointment in that department. In a few other departments, now that I come to think about it."

In that moment he longed to crush her body close and shower her with kisses to prove she was loved and not a disappointment. Had he really used the word loved? Okay, it had been mentally, but it was a bit soon considering their stormy relationship.

He babbled something to her as they finished their walk home, but it would soon end, and he had to make the most of this moment, standing outside her front door. "Did you want to come back to mine and get a nightcap?"

"Thanks, but I have work in the morning," she unwillingly turned him down. "I have this cantankerous boss, you see, who gets a bit whatshername."

"Does he? Then I'd better let you go," he softly teased. "Mustn't get you into trouble."

"Chance would be a fine thing," she joked before reason could stop her.

Did this mean she wasn't as immune to his charms as she insisted she was? Or was he seeing compliance where he wanted it to appear? There was only one way to find out, so he dipped forward as he murmured, "Good night, Donna."

She saw it coming; of course she did. Her expectation had been a friendly chaste kiss on the lips. The reality was a soft pair of lips upon her mouth that pressed for more, smoothing together with ease as he clasped her tight. Okay, it was a very friendly goodnight kiss, she reasoned. One that she was more than willing to return. It was also a one hit wonder type of kiss, she decided, like a one-night stand's more innocent relative; and because of that, it wouldn't mean much in the morning.

Still, she could enjoy the fantasy of the kiss in the here and now. He didn't fancy her, and she didn't fancy him. Much. Just a nice end to the evening.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

.

It hadn't felt like long since she'd got into bed, but Martha was abruptly brought out of her slumbers by the door buzzer going. Swearing she'd swing for Donna if she'd forgotten her key, she reluctantly threw on a dressing gown and then opened the front door. What greeted her made her jerk in horrified surprise. For there, on her front doorstep, was Peter kissing Donna. On the lips, full body clasp and everything.

"What's going on?" she demanded to know.

The pair of them jumped apart. "Nothing," Donna insisted; adding intellectual insult to injury.

Whereas Peter was decidedly miffed. "What the fuck does it look like?" he huffed.

"Shouldn't you be home by now?" There was no way Martha could contain her fury. On her own doorstep too!

As Donna attempted to look contrite, Peter got bolder. "You know, I think I fucking will. Come on, Donna."

"Where are we going?" she tried not to wail.

"Leaving Martha the fuck alone," he bitterly retorted as he dragged her away.

In answer, Martha slammed the door on them and went back to bed, seething with indignation. How dare he treat her like that! How dare he!

She stomped over to her walk-in closet and threw the door open. Inside sat the TARDIS waiting patiently. "You'd better have an answer for me," Martha near threatened her.

But the TARDIS stayed silent. An hour later and at least three views of his long message later had Martha no nearer to knowing what the Doctor would want her to do,

"Why didn't you consider falling in love?" she asked his image on the TARDIS monitor. "And if you were going to fall in love with a human, why couldn't it have been me? All that flirting and hardly any of it in my direction."

Unfortunately, the TARDIS was unable in a way that made any sense, let alone calm her frazzled nerves. In the end, Martha admitted defeat and made her way back to bed, having washed away her tears of frustration. Perhaps, if she wished hard enough, there'd be better news in the morning.

* * *

Out in the corridor, Donna had tugged against Peter, refusing to budge. "Where are you taking me and why?"

He combed his fingers through his fringe, pulling it back from his face. "I'm not going to fucking attack you, you silly cow. I was only going to..."

She quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "You was only going to what?"

"I was only going to show you the sunrise from my apartment," he quietly finished. "That's not too sappy, is it?"

"No. In fact it could be quite sweet, if you'd actually asked me in the first place instead of going all caveman on me."

"Sorry. Can I start again? Would you like to see the sunrise with me, Donna?"

"Better." She nodded. "Alright, as long as there's no funny business. Although I rather get the impression you don't like being alone in the dark."

There was no answer from him, merely her being ushered in to his sumptuous apartment. "I'll make us some tea," he offered, "and then we can snuggle up under a blanket on the sofa together to watch the dawn."

Like two puppies she thought, but it was nice to be held in the warmth of his embrace. Soon he planted a cup of tea in her hand and pulled a soft throwover from behind the sofa to cover them both.

"This is nice," she commented as they daintily sipped tea and sat partially cross-legged, leaning against each other.

In fact, it was so nice, they stopped all banal conversion, just enjoying the shared moment for a while.

For seven whole minutes Peter sat wrapped around Donna, gazing out at the sun rising over the distant mountains, across the Nevada desert towards Las Vegas. Nanoseconds later he realised that he'd had enough of that; he wanted to do something else entirely.

"Fuck this. This is boring after a while," he stated. As it was, he could think of something more entertaining to do with his time. "There's only so long you can watch the sun rise up."

"I assume it's not the only thing rising," she noted, glancing knowingly at his torso.

"You could say that," he admitted and eased closer to his goal. "Given the chance, I would kiss you senseless."

"I'd have no common sense left if I let you do it," she immediately retorted, hoping against hope that he wasn't joking.

"You'd have no sense left by the time I'd finish with you," he saucily continued, whispering into her ear. "Not if I had my way with your delicious body."

"Oh yeah?" she questioned. If this was his idea of taking the piss out of her, she'd beat the shit out of him. "And what would be your 'way'?"

So he leaned closer still and whispered into her ear all the filthy fantasies he'd been having about a future tryst with her. All said with gentle words and soft touches with his mouth on her earlobe. Such weird, exotic and strangely arousing sweet nothings.

"With a hankie soaked in Midori?" she heard herself repeat in query. "Have you done any of that with someone else?"

"Not really. Not to that extent, anyway," he confessed. "It'd be something new to explore with you, should you want to."

When she answered, "I'm not sure about the sound of that truss," his hopes grew sky high.

"Why don't we go to my bed and start exploring together?" he offered.

In answer, she smacked his arm. "I told you, no funny business. You may be able to lay about in bed all day if you so wish but I have to go to work in a few hours."

He suggested, "You could sleep in my bed."

"No." But she couldn't resist laughing with delight too. "Some things are best avoided. Things like fatherhood and paternity payments."

"Oh." Now he saw the problem. "I have plenty of condoms."

"You really are the limit," she pretended to complain. "And I refuse to be the latest one night stand in your life. No," she repeated.

"But we can still snog, right?" he sought to confirm.

"Why don't you persuade me," she coaxed, wanting to enjoy this moment in the limelight.

His lips met hers in a succulent kiss, and he eased her body into covering him on the sofa, straddling his hips as he undulated beneath her. Persuasion came in the form of tender caresses on her body as his hands smoothed across her skin, seeking to heighten her arousal.

"Oh yes," he gasped when she stroked him in return; and then turned them to give her greater access.

The rest of his words were lost in sighs, grunts and moans until stuttered breaths punctuated the air. Yes, it was satisfying and rather marvellous, Donna thought, but when he murmured, "Love you," she thought he was pushing the experience a little bit too far.

Never mind. He had proven that he wasn't a selfish lover and offered excellent cuddles. Thoroughly spent, they soon drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

It was Donna who woke first, thanks to her complaining back, some too few hours later. She slipped quietly out of Peter's embrace, made sure he was sufficiently covered by the blanket, and crept back to her apartment.

* * *

By the time she danced along the corridor to her apartment, Donna was buzzing with excitement. Boy could that man kiss! If it was an Olympic sport he'd win gold, for definite. One point to Peter for lifting her spirits so high. Okay, make it two. On second thoughts he could have as many points as he liked. He certainly had the old besotted act down to a fine art, it had to be said. If she didn't know any better she would have been convinced he was in love with her. Aw, bless his little cotton socks, when he actually wore them, for going to all that bother to cheer her up. He was a star.

It'd been heady to kiss and pet each other, so gawd knows how she'd cope if they went all the way. Okay, Peter had insisted 'when' they went all the way, but that was by the by. The thrill she felt couldn't be weakened. She had to share it, and she knew just the right person. Well, hopefully Martha was the right person now that she'd got off with whatshisface. Trey. Or something like that.

Anyway, Donna was too happy to worry about any lingering jealous spats. She had every intention of announcing her news to Martha at the first opportunity, whether Martha was asleep or not.

Without much fumbling with the lock, she entered their shared apartment, and noted traces of Martha's belongings strewn about that suggested she was still present in the rooms. Good.

"Guess what, Martha!" she proclaimed, bursting into Martha's bedroom.

"What?" Martha sleepy muttered from beneath her covers.

"I've only gone and snogged…," Donna began to boast, and then stuttered to a halt when she spotted a large, familiar, blue box sitting behind the open closet door in the bedroom. "What the…! That's the TARDIS," she gasped. "There's a TARDIS in the corner. You've got the TARDIS sitting in your bedroom."

Martha pulled her weary body into a sitting position, stunned that Donna should recognise it. "Yes, it's the TARDIS," she confirmed. "How do you know what it looks like?"

"I've seen it before, haven't I," Donna threw out dismissively. "How come I've never seen it before in here?"

"You haven't been in here much," Martha allowed. "And she tends to hide unless you are looking for her." She thought on that for a moment. "Have you? Been looking for her, I mean?"

"Sort of." Donna stood in awe, contemplating the TARDIS; her mind whirling away with all the possibilities. If the TARDIS was here, then so was the Doctor. And that meant the similarity between him and Peter might not be a coincidence after all, she reasoned. "I thought it was odd but this takes the biscuit. Is he the Doctor? Peter. Is he the real and proper Doctor? I'm right aren't I? Go on, say I am. I thought they looked alike, but this is pushing it a bit too far. And who are you really?"

"Peter is really the Doctor and I'm still Martha. Martha Jones, medical student," she admitted once she got over her shock at Donna's enthusiasm. "I met the Doctor at the Royal Hope Hospital when it was taken by the Judoon."

"The who?"

"Space rhinos," Martha explained but knew instantly that Donna had no idea what she was on about, judging by her expression. "It doesn't matter. He saved the whole hospital when it was abducted and taken to the moon."

"The moon?" Donna frowned. "When was that?"

"Before Easter. It was on the news," Martha supplied, still seeing confusion on Donna's face. "No?"

"Had a bit of a bad time then," Donna mumbled to excuse herself from not knowing something so obvious, "so I had no idea what was going on." That time was a numb blur for her as they coped with her father's death; but she wasn't going to mention it and appear to be seeking pity.

Martha sighed. She was beginning to think Donna was a bit thick after all. "Anyway, I've been travelling with him since."

"That's good, that he found someone," Donna observed. She was now forlornly realising that she might have completely missed her opportunity to return to the TARDIS. In fact, she could feel the loss keenly in the pit of her stomach. "How come he turned into a bearded lecherous amnesiac?" she wondered with a wave of her thumb in his general direction.

"He had to hide himself away as a human in order to escape some aliens called the Aubertide," Martha explained. "They want to use his life force."

Donna tilted her head. "What do you mean 'hide'?"

"He used this head device to change every cell in his body to human and the TARDIS gave him a new personality."

"She could have chosen a better character," Donna commented. "I much prefer the old one."

"Me too," Martha answered with a conspiratorial grin. "Peter isn't a patch on the Doctor, but we're stuck with him for now. How did you meet him?"

"It was sort of at my wedding on Christmas Eve. He saved my life by getting me away from the clutches of my fiancé and a giant alien spider."

She possibly knew this reference, Martha realised in glee. "Was it that Christmas Star that got shot down?"

"Yes, that's the one," Donna confirmed. From what she'd learned during her time there in Vegas, it was obvious Martha had a thing for the Doctor since the word 'go', but it wouldn't help if she found out he'd invited Donna along first. "So… what do we do now that I know?"

"We carry on, I suppose, until we know for sure that the Aubertide are dead. They can't last longer than three months, he said. Should be any day now, and then we can all go home."

"Yeah," Donna sort of agreed. That would be easier said than done after all that had happened between her and Peter. Should she even bother to remind the Doctor of his invite once this was all over? Deciding to play it by ear, she changed the subject. "I've got some theatre tickets to sort out for the Mandalay, so I'd better get back to that. Whatever happens, Martha, you're not alone now."

"Thank you, Donna," Martha readily sighed; but part of her wasn't relieved at all. Not if she was going to have to continue playing gooseberry.

* * *

Good morning, ladies!" Peter cheerily greeted them a few hours later as he entered the office.

As Martha trilled a greeting, Donna couldn't resist a dig at his expense by looking at her watch. "Good afternoon. How's the head today?"

"Fine," he replied, wondering why she had even asked. "Did you have a nice birthday, Martha?"

"Yes, thank you," she answered, although she wondered if he had enjoyed it better.

Picking up an item of mail to read, he skimmed the contents before abandoning it and anxiously glanced at Martha. "Any particular plans for tonight?" he cagily pondered, remembering his promise to ask her.

He picked up and toyed with an item on the desk.

"As it happens, I do," she boasted. "Why do you ask?"

Trying to look innocent, he hastily put down the paperweight he'd been examining without any real interest. "No reason," he lied. "I just wondered if you had a date."

"Okay." Martha narrowed her eyes at him. Was he trying to get rid of her from the apartment? "I may have a date but I should be home by midnight, in case you are planning anything else."

"I wasn't," he denied, with a faint shake of his head. But he spoilt it by shooting Donna a triumphant grin. "Not really, unless Donna wants to go with me to this awards thingamajig."

"Me?" Donna gasped.

"Why not?" he tried to persuade her. "It shouldn't be all speeches and PR." He jostled her shoulder with his. "What do you say? A chance to dress up, sip champagne and eat fancy food. And all of it with me."

Flummoxed, she admitted, "I haven't got anything that posh to wear."

"Surely Martha has something you can borrow," he reasoned. "Or failing that, grab a dancer's outfit from the theatre wardrobe."

"You obviously have no idea how women's dress sizes go," Donna huffed. "None of that stuff would fit me."

"Then buy something," he insisted, right in her face. "I'll pay. It'd be my treat."

"I really couldn't…"

Taking pity on her, Martha offered, "I'll help find a dress, if you like."

Now feeling cornered, Donna reluctantly agreed. "Oh, alright. If I must."

"Great!" Peter declared. "Arrange for the limo to pick us up straight after the show, will you? And I'll see you later."

With a cheery wink, he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** migraine sleeps have their uses (and yes, I **am** talking to myself here - in fact, I could put virtually anything I like here and nobody would know!).

* * *

 **Part 6**

.

"You do realise what you've just made me agree to, don't you?" Donna accused Martha when they were back to being alone together in the office. "It was all casual and doable when it was Peter, but I've gone and said 'yes' to going on a date with the Doctor."

"It'll be alright," Martha assured her; sounding remarkably as though she were trying to convince herself at the same time. "Surely it will. There's no guarantee he'll want more."

You weren't there sitting within his embrace last night, Donna wanted to retort. Because Peter certainly had more than one ambition where they were concerned. Ambitions that did not tally with the fey Time Lord she had cuddled on the Thames Barrier during the early hours of Christmas Day; shall we say. "Still doesn't mean I can find a dress in time," she replied instead. "Or afford one from the fancy boutiques around here."

"Ah," Martha mischievously gloated. "That's where you're wrong. I know where there is an extensive wardrobe for you to choose from, all for free. So if all else fails, we'll ask the TARDIS itself to pick one out."

"Why do I let you do this to me?" Donna asked no one in particular as Martha grabbed her hand to pull her to their apartment to grab their bags.

* * *

After much perusing of several designer label shops, and Donna gasps of horror equally the cost of the items for sale, Martha had followed through with her fool proof plan to find Donna an inexpensive dress that would do the trick.

She took Donna deep into the heart of the rooms within the TARDIS, to where rack upon rack of clothing hung, waiting patiently for someone to decide to wear it.

"Wow!" Donna exclaimed. "This is like falling into the storeroom of Next. Is there anything in here suitable for women or someone not shaped like a catwalk model."

"Through here," Martha guided her. "These look more feminine." They found some racks that held clothing presumably worn or left behind by companions over the years. After much searching, and dismissing of various items, she pondered, "Well?"

Donna waited until she could honestly answer Martha's question, hesitantly adjusting the fall of the sequined dress around the neckline and against her chest. "I'm still not sure."

Just as Donna had dreaded, the TARDIS had several outfits for someone more petite and youthful in their outlook, or firmly stuck in the 1970s, but found only three that possibly fit her. One was a rather fetching boiler suit in a vivid orange colour; very Village People in its style, she thought. The second was a classy knitted swimming costume from the Edwardian period, accessorised with an added matching hat, and the third was the burgundy sequinned evening dress she currently wore. Although the term 'dress' was extremely loose, since the front barely covered the essentials despite the ankle length of the garment. A couple of strips of body tape would need to be applied first before she'd even consider stepping outside the door. Modesty, and all that prevents…

Truth be told, Donna strongly suspected Martha had arranged all this in order to seek some sort of revenge on her for being caught kissing Peter the night before. It wasn't exactly her fault he hadn't snogged Martha too, but then she hadn't pushed him into attempting it either.

She shifted this way and that in front of a long mirror, wondering if she would ever get away with the outfit. It was hot enough to wear so little, and it _was_ glamorous, it had to be said; but the expanse of bare flesh! Quite frankly, it frightened her, but she had very little time to faff about finding anything else, so the choice was limited.

"Are we finally done?" Martha chivvied her to make a decision.

"We're done," Donna settled. "We have a winner. Sort of. Once I find a suitable bra and some tape."

As she said the words, she felt the material next to her skin firm up and lift her breasts. Oh! Future technology, she summarised, and mentally thanked the TARDIS for the supplying its delights. There was a warm gust across her bare back that she presumed was the TARDIS' reply.

"Good," Martha murmured in relief. "I have to get back to change for my date."

Time to do the final preparations, Donna considered, giving the nearest wall a pat as she went by.

"Can I ask a question? You were there when the Doctor changed," Donna began to ask Martha as they headed back out of the TARDIS. "What will happen to Peter when he changes back?"

"Back from a human to being Time Lord, you mean?" Martha tried to verify.

"Yes. Will it be a like he's transported in, like in Star Trek, or will it be more of a Jekyll and Hyde sort of thing?" Donna wondered. "Falling down behind the nearest piece of furniture before emerging all changed."

"I don't know what the reverse process will be like," Martha admitted. "It wasn't like that when he changed from the Doctor. He put this metal head clamp thing on his head before screaming with pain. Minutes later, Peter stared at me in confusion."

Donna tried to rephrase her question. "What happens to the person we know as Peter Vincent after all this?"

"Peter will die, I suppose," Martha considered. "There would be no reason for him to still exist."

"Die," Donna mumbled to herself, appalled at the thought of it suddenly happening to the man she had spent the night with. "Just tossed aside like a used pen."

"As I said," Martha stressed, turning to lead the way out of the doors. "There'd be no need for him to stick around once the Doctor is back. Why should he?"

"Yeah, why," Donna forced herself to agree but her heart went out to Peter and his demise. Did he even know he was temporary? "So why doesn't he? Suddenly turn back, I mean."

Martha patted her right pocket. "He can't without the fob watch that holds his essence, and that's safely tucked up here in my pocket. When the time is right, I'll give it to him to open."

"And how will you know when that is?"

For a split-second Martha's confident expression faltered. "I'll know when it's time," she maintained with a small waggle of her head.

In that moment Donna changed her mind about giving the Doctor while he was Peter the cold shoulder because she knew all too well what it was like to be temporary and dismissed as such. Instead, he deserved to live out his last days knowing he was cared for. All she had to do was rustle up the courage to go through with it. "Let's hope he agrees," she whispered under her breath.

* * *

Peter popped his head around the doorframe of the office door. "Has she gone?" he wondered.

"No, I'm still here," Donna answered.

"Not you, you silly cow! I'm talking about fucking Martha," he grumbled as he sidled up to her.

She near shrieked when he pulled her into his embrace, but she let him do it; keeping in mind her personal promise.

"You won't shag her if you keep grabbing hold of me," she informed him.

In answer, he nuzzled closer to sniff her neck. "You smell fucking gorgeous," he crooned. "Come to bed with me."

"No," she insisted, holding in a giggle. "Stop mucking about. I've got work to do."

"And I've got some serious seducing that needs my attention," he countered. "Go on, you know you want to fuck me."

She snorted her scorn. "Getting ahead of yourself again, Peter."

"Don't be like that," he begged. "I can't wait until after our date; I'm likely to burst before then."

"There are other means to relieve yourself," she pointed out, trying to evade his clasp. "You only need the thought of me, or some other poor women for that bit."

He pulled her closer and ghosted his lips over her mouth. "Fuck that when I can have you."

"Martha will be back from getting something to eat in a minute," she warned.

His smile turned lascivious. "Good, then she can man the office as soon as she gets back, so stop fighting it.

"Fight what?" she asked in a daze. He really was too good at this seduction lark for her own good.

Now his smirk turned triumphant, and he tenderly guided their lips together.

To his surprise, she pushed him away. "Stop. No we can't."

"Why?" he heard himself petulantly ask.

"Because I don't want to be yet another notch on your bed post," she argued. "That's why."

"Please..." He then noticed the expression on her face, how scared she seemed. "Oh babe, it's alright," he tenderly assured her as he reached out to clasp her hands; and concerned to feel her trembling. "We don't have to go to bed tonight or anything else. I thought you liked the dirty talk so I'm sorry for pushing you into it."

"It's not that," she mumbled, averting her eyes. "I just don't think it's right."

"Come here," he softly ordered, pulling her into his embrace, against his chest; tucking her head beneath his chin before he placed a kiss to her temple. "This has got to do with that arse of an ex-fiancé of yours, isn't it? Talk about a prize-winning dick! If I ever see him, I'll beat the shit out of him for treating you so badly. Forget about him and his filthy lies; you are a beautiful and desirable woman. Now, I'm not saying this because I'm after mere sex, a quick bit of "how's your father"; I want to make love to you," he crooned, giving to the temptation to lower his mouth to kiss to her cheek and nuzzle close to where her face pressed by his neck. "You're the important element here so if I don't make you feel happy, I'm a bastard. Plain and simple, so stop worrying; we are going out on a date tonight to swig champagne, have a bit of nice food, dress up nice, and if we both fancy it, then and only then do we go to bed together. Although I'd certainly appreciate the offer of a cuddle all night again. I rather enjoyed that bit."

She raised her eyes to look directly into his face. The face she had grown to love in return and those lips that had spouted such lovely things. "What happened to the sex mad gonad I work for?"

"Here's a clue, love," he whispered, waving her closer. "It's all made up. No one could be that eternally up for it. Even me."

"You really are using a sexist persona to keep people at arm's reach," she commented in amazement. "I was right."

"You always are, but I never said that," he agreed with a conspiratorial smile. He then slightly pushed her away from his body. "Now you, young lady, are to go and get some shuteye, and I will meet you, all dressed up in your finest, just after ten o'clock. Is that okay?"

"Yes. Very okay." Stepping unwillingly from his embrace, she took in his earnest, adoring expression. "Thanks, Peter. I'll see you later."

"I can hardly wait, babe" he answered, and then felt the full glare she gave him at the endearment. "Donna. I mean Donna," he quickly amended; since Peter Vincent would never say such a thing and mean it. Would he.

"Yeah, sure you did, Piglet," she scoffed.

"I didn't mean that Babe," he started to protest before he realised she was teasing him, again.

With a cheery wave she was gone, and he was left on his own, grinning. But at least he had sort of admitted his feelings and she'd sort of accepted that. Yes. he told himself, this relationship was suddenly getting better and better.

* * *

When Donna went to meet Peter later, he was dressed in his usual long black leather jacket, shoulder length wig and goatee beard; but the bare chest was covered in by a black shirt and tie combo that managed to make him look more dressed up but rebellious at the same time.

"Looking good, Mr Vincent," she greeted him at the stage door.

"Wow!" was his only response for a couple of seconds. He gaped at her in astonishment before finally opening his mouth properly. "How do you keep the boobs in place like that?"

Trust him! She rolled her eyes in contempt. "Yes, I am aware massive boobs like mine would normally demand scaffolding, but this dress came with special structural inserts." Stuff from the future, obviously, she wanted to add but that would mean having to explain the role the TARDIS had played in providing the dress. That little snippet would have to wait until later. Instead, she glorified in his attention whilst the TARDIS enhanced dress lifted up parts other dresses failed to reach. "So what do you think? Arty or farty?"

"Definitely arty," he enthused, reaching forward to grasp her hand and lead them towards their waiting limousine.

It didn't take many minutes to reach the awards venue; it took longer to get passed all the interviewing journalists and flash photography. Fortunately, Peter wasn't that well known, so apart from a quick question about his nomination for best newcomer from the breakfast TV news woman, they were left relatively alone.

"That's Cher," Donna gasped under her breath as they sat waiting for their promised meal. "Is that Liza Minnelli? Oh my god! You never said Barry Gibb would be here," she continued to quietly gush into Peter's ear as they spotted various people they recognised.

He merely smirked in satisfaction at how well this was playing out. But he was more than willing to take the credit when James Blunt performed at the ceremony and aimed "You're Beautiful" right in Donna's direction.

"Did you get him to do that," she near squealed.

What could he do except reply, "Might have done."

It certainly earned him extra kudos, judging by the way she gratefully kissed him in the limousine drive back home.

He only released his tight hold on her as they walked along the last remaining piece of corridor outside their home, in order to peel off the unwanted facial hair and shake off the wig. "That's better. Fancy a drink before bed?" he cheekily offered.

"You've made me feel like the Queen tonight," she joyfully commented as they stepped through the main door into his apartment.

Ever one to make the most of the moment, he whispered into her ear, "Now I want you to reign in my bedroom and become my queen."

"Hark at you," she retorted, blushing with embarrassment as all the negative thoughts about this being the Doctor came crashing in. "Trying to make it sound all special, when I know there's almost a revolving door in your bedroom. And you can take your arm away from my waist now. I'm not one of your little girlies who's impressed by such things."

Ah, she was stilled worried by that. He knew he had to get rid of this hurdle once and for all. "About those girls," he cautiously began, busying himself with pouring out two alcoholic drinks from his personal bar. "I have a confession."

"What, the vampire stuff didn't turn them on enough, so you had to genuinely bite them?" she caustically pondered, and sat herself down, at the ready to repel his argument.

"No," he replied, shocked at the venom now in her voice. Picking up two full glasses, he sauntered over to her and deliberately sat himself right next to her on his sofa. "Nothing like that. Although they were very keen to taste me."

Taking a sip from his own glass, he shot her a meaningful look over the top of the crystal. But it did nothing to quell her previous misgivings.

Picking up her own drink, she instantly bristled. "Pardon?"

"What I'm trying to say is," he faltered, running his fingers agitatedly through his hair, "I didn't do much to them but they... He did a vague gesture, followed by a lewder one. "They gave me blowjobs, and usually not very good ones."

"I'm amazed at you at times," she snapped. "You use the casting couch on impressionable, ambitious girls and then wonder why they underperform. It's disgusting."

"No no no. I assure you they all freely offered and were very willing. Anyway, what I really wanted to say was that I never sought out sex from them, especially when I first saw you."

"First saw me," she echoed. "What the bloody hell have I got to do with it?!"

"Oh Donna, don't play the innocent with me," he argued. "You were well aware how much you deliberately goaded me to act more badly."

She snorted, "In your dreams, mate. What a cheek blaming me."

"Then it wasn't deliberate? You weren't riling me to gain my attention?" He paused to think. "Oh. That was real."

"Yes, it was. Got it in one. Can I go home now, please?" she requested, putting her glass firmly down on the coffee table in front of them.

"But I would never have done all that," he protested, "unless I thought you were interested. Okay, it's flattering to have young girls chase after me, I must admit. And I knew what their agenda was; it was fucking obvious, if you'll excuse the pun."

"You are blaming me for behaving like a dog on heat? Now I've heard everything." She made to stand and walk away.

"Please, no, don't go," he begged, placing a hand on her forearm to halt her exit. Coming clean would be the only way to keep her there, so he braced himself to reveal the absolute truth. "What I am trying to say, very badly I admit, is that I tried to fight off my immediate attraction to you. This will sound weird, but I felt like I already _knew_ you. You were so familiar, like talking to you was a version of coming home, if that makes any sense."

If this had been the proper Doctor she would have readily agreed with him, because they'd shared a grief-motivated connection on Christmas Day. One that was strong enough for her to have sought him out, so it almost blew her mind to hear Peter say all this. Something was evidently seeping through.

"I can understand that feeling," she quietly acknowledged instead.

Now bolstered by her acceptance, and the fact she hadn't scarpered, he felt reassured enough to tell her the rest. "And I tried not to fall for you; what with Martha getting all pissy whenever a woman came near me, clinging fans, and never quite knowing who to trust, you were suddenly there to offer hope that I wasn't such a major arsehole after all. Can you not see that I'm trying?" he beseeched.

"Oh, you're trying all right," she agreed, and then gave in to the urge to kiss him. "You fell for me, eh?"

"Well... I might have said that," he cagily admitted, now embracing her body and fighting the urge to explore further.

"That's okay, because I might have fallen for you too, but don't take it to heart too much."

"I promise I won't," he readily vowed.

After that he felt it was best that he not speak but show her through his careful actions and kisses what he had come to feel for her. If you'll pardon another pun…


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** for anyone who has been waiting for an update (okay, IF there's anyone), I'm very sorry about the delay.

* * *

 **Part 7**

.

His hands roamed over her bared flesh, trying to find a way in beneath the glitzy material. Every attempt was thwarted by whatever held the front in place. "Argh! Fuck this!" he cried out frustration. "Can we please get rid of the dress? I'm likely to die of old age here before I ever get it off."

"Temper temper, Mr Grumpypants," she mocked. "Don't throw your rattle out of your pram. What exactly are you trying to do?"

"What does it look like I'm trying to achieve?" he griped. "I've got these huge tantalising breasts begging for my particular attention and I can't get passed your sodding dress!"

As she brought her hands up to assist she couldn't help give him a little teasing wriggle. "You like them then?"

"'Like' is too mild a word for what I want to do or feel," he replied. "Fuck the zip, or whatever the fuck is holding it up, just let me rip it off."

"No. It isn't my dress. I borrowed it, so more patience and less trying to give yourself a stroke or heart attack."

"You can carry on stroking me if you like," he offered, in a completely non-magnanimous way. "Any part of your body would do, but especially your-"

"Peter!" she chastised. "There's a time and a place for filth."

"You little prude," he teased. "I'm allowed to fondle it but not say its name."

"Not that word, no," she warned.

"Am I allowed to fuck it? Because I really want to," he crooned. "Oh yes," he happily sighed as her breasts were released and fell into his waiting hands. "Gorgeous! Just like the rest of you. Absolutely beautiful."

Any words of denial she might have offered by swept away by the tender touches of his lips upon her flesh. Like a kid in a sweetshop, he didn't quite know what delights to taste first. His thumbs had smoothed over her skin before lowering his mouth to clamp possessively around a nipple, arousing and teasing the nerve endings there in equal pleasure while his fingertips mirrored the action on her other breast.

There was an itch within her that needed to be rubbed, desperately calling for attention, but she couldn't position herself properly on his lap to do that. "My dress is restricting me. Can we take this somewhere more comfortable?" she breathily begged.

Peter broke from suckling flesh to supply, "I know just where we can go. Follow me."

He grabbed her hand and guided her into his bedroom; almost dragging her there in the process. Once there, he released his hold to hastily sweep things off the bed and adjusted the fall of the sheets in readiness.

"You've got black sheets. Black satin sheets," she commented. "You are such a cliché."

"What? I like them," he defended himself, "white Egyptian cotton is boring all the time."

She was stood impassively watching him, and her stillness worried him. Treating her like a nervous deer, he approached her cautiously.

"Are you okay? You're trembling again. Sh shh shhh," he murmured, wrapping her up in a comforting embrace. "I'll tell what I am going to do, and then you get to decide what happens after that. Now, I'll finish stripping off, put on a condom; just in case because we don't want any little accidents or unfortunate consequences, do we; and we can go back to kissing. Nothing more."

"Nothing? What about your expectations?" she barely whispered.

He brightly grinned to assure her of his answer. "I want to love you, in any way you are comfortable with. And if all else fails, I can wank off in the bathroom," he admitted, making her laugh; just as he wanted her to.

As before, he knew she needed tender touches and reverent caresses; not fine words. Not at this stage. All that could be said later, when she was sure of his intentions and trusted him thoroughly. He kept eye contact with her as he undressed, watching her keenly as she bared herself completely for his approval; never faltering to silently convey his desire to make it an intense and meaningful moment for her. For them both.

When he reached out to guide her on to the bed, she went willingly back into his embrace.

* * *

Things had quickly moved from deeply mouthed kisses that were both passionate and mutually arousing. Now came the fine act, as it were, Donna pondered. Could she still resist him and keep relatively at arm's length, as it were? Except it was too late for that, she realised as he urged on further with tender touches and caresses that set her skin on fire. How had it come to this; being offered heaven when she knew it was the path to hell?

Sensing her hesitation, he brought his hands up to lovingly cradle her face. "It's okay," he whispered. "There's no need to hold back. I love you, more than you will ever know."

"D-Peter, how do I know you're not just saying that in the moment?" she cautiously queried, horrified she had almost voiced her deepest fear.

He turned her body within his tight embrace, guiding her ever onwards towards a sensual plateau. "Because I may be a lot of things, but I don't lie about love. Certainly not with you. This means too much to me."

"But…"

Silencing her with a kiss, he begged, "Let me love you please, as you deserve to be loved."

And then he surged forwarded, thrusting deliciously into her body, making her gasp in delight. The final decision had been made so she might as well enjoy every single second of it. "Oh yes," she moaned; and then continued to do so.

* * *

Snuggled together in the afterglow, she couldn't resist running her fingers over his face, tracing his features with quiet concentration.

"Are you okay?" he asked, still concerned that he had not fulfilled his promise of making her feel as loved as possible.

Inevitably, he had finished a little premature rather than as planned, but he allowed himself some leeway since it had been quite a time ago he had shared such an experience despite rumoured evidence to the contrary.

"I'm fine," she assured him, far too readily. "I was just thinking… If you knew you would die soon, would you still be here with me?"

"What sort of a fucking weird question is that?" he protested. "Is this your hormones talking, or that fancy worrying I know women often do?"

She tilted her head in thought. "Closer to the last one, I suppose."

Wrapping himself more firmly around her from behind, in their spooned position, he languidly kissed her on the temple. "'Live each day as though it's your last', is my motto. You never know what's around the corner."

"So," she continued, "you're okay with this... With us being like this together?"

"Very much so. I wouldn't have enticed you in here if I wasn't," he confirmed. "Come on, what's brought this on? Have I done enough to finally stop you moping over that bloke you said you are going back to?"

Her head whipped round to gaze at him; wondering what had turned his thoughts in that direction, and her contented emotion fell away. "Oh. I didn't expect you to remember I said that." She shook her head in regret as she confessed, "I don't think he'd ever want me now."

Peter's expression immediately turned thunderous; wanting to retaliate. "If he hurts you, I'll smash his fucking head in!"

"It isn't like that," she denied with a soft deprecating laugh, and hugging his arm lain across her body. "Something's changed about me and he'll never look at me in the same again. But thanks for the offer anyway. Did Charley say he'll be over tomorrow?"

"No, you are not changing the subject," he determined. "Why aren't you suddenly good enough for this poncey friend of yours?"

The hurt was too much to hold in. It bit too deep. "Because I'm an embarrassment, alright!" she burst out with. "He will look at me and cringe in disgust."

"Because we _fucked_?!" Peter suggested in incredulity.

"Yes," she quietly agreed.

"What a bastard! A prize fucking wanker! Why should it even matter to him unless you're up the duff?" he spat. "Which you shouldn't be, or I'll be suing Trojan."

Hurting him further would do he no favours in the future, and his current anger had to be abated, so she turned within his embrace to face him properly. "Calm down, it's okay," she assured him with a tender touch on his cheek. "It's not likely that I am but... How would you feel if you suddenly found out you'd had drunken sex with Martha one morning?"

His face scrunched up in horror. "Do you have to?" he whined. "I'd never do that to her."

"But what if you did," she persisted. "You wouldn't be able to face Martha."

"And her mother," he tacked on with feeling. "Still don't see how that equates to your mate getting all pissy. I'm the one shagging you, not him."

That's exactly the point, she wanted to tell him but couldn't. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Can't we just leave it?" she requested instead. "That's next month's worry. For now, I'm with you."

His arms squeezed her closer to offer comforts. "All mine," he schmoozed, adding in another kiss on her neck. "But if you turn out to be up the duff we can always..."

She lifted her head to ask, "What?"

Barely murmuring above a whisper, he continued, "Well, there's always that wedding chapel downstairs…" He gave her a nonchalant shrug. "…should you want to; or need to."

Her eyes went wide. "Wedding chapel?!"

"A plan for every emergency," he covered himself by saying. "I'm not fucking proposing or anything, so don't get your knickers in a twist."

Except she was sure he sort of was, at that moment, and the enormity of it struck her dumb.

Wanting to wipe the thought of weddings and all that malarkey from her mind, he deliberately distracted her by shoving her onto her back on his black satin sheet. "Now about this shag I promised you," he crooned directly into her ear.

His body soon covered hers in possessive passion.

* * *

It didn't take too much effort to tiptoe out of Peter's apartment at some ungodly hour of the morning and make her way back to the temporary home she shared with Martha. But it had caused pangs of regret in Donna's heart to leave Peter snoozing in bed alone like that.

As she'd gazing lovingly at him, she had to admit that she'd got it bad. After all that nonsense with Lance at Christmas, she'd thought she'd never trust another man to love him like this again, but Peter had snuck in and stolen her heart anyway.

Perhaps it was the fact that, in many ways, he wasn't real, that had tipped her over the edge into allowing it to happen. In a week or so he wouldn't exist anymore, and she'd be left with the romanticised fantasy of being with him. So far it had been a deliciously wonderful fantasy. One that was extremely addictive. No wonder Martha held on so tightly to her fantasy of being loved by the Doctor; Donna could certainly see why. It was the same reason that made her deny the impending arrival of the Doctor, and her own humiliating demise. She'd just shagged a completely amazing imaginary man, and that was a new low, even for her.

To add to her distress, there was an email sitting in her inbox from T & R Dimensions with the details of her flight home. Yes, her days were well and truly numbered. Blinking back sudden tears, she ignored the email notification on her phone and crept further into the apartment and towards her waiting bedroom.

Alas, Martha was sitting eating breakfast and her expression turned thunderous as soon as she saw Donna in the remnants of her evening jaunt. "Are you only just getting home?" she demanded to know. "Donna! Where have you been until now?"

"Eating, drinking, chatting and some dancing," Donna cagily replied. "It was a good evening. Did your date go well?"

"Fine, thanks," Martha acknowledged. "Trey is nice enough, but I don't think I'll be seeing him again."

"Oh, why's that?" Donna sympathetically queried as she helped herself to some coffee from their machine.

"He's not right for me, and I have to go home soon," Martha explained, "so it's best that I don't push it too far with him." She then eyed Donna with her full attention. "What's that on your neck? You've got a love bite."

"Have I?" Donna innocently and somewhat embarrassedly denied. But the hand she brought up to adjust her dress to hide the mark was a dead giveaway.

"Yes, you have," Martha persisted, and stood up to take a closer look at Donna's bruised skin. "You've got one down there too," she pointed out with teasing delight. "Who gave them to you?"

"No one."

"Was that no one Peter by any chance?"

Donna flushed a bright red colour. "Probably. Okay, it was. It was Peter. We erm... We had a good time together."

"You've spent the night with him, you mean," Martha chastised.

"It wasn't like that," Donna hastily denied.

Martha glared in disbelief. "Then how exactly was it?"

"Alright. Alright, keep your hair on. It was like that," Donna confessed. "We went back to his place after the award ceremony."

Anger flared through Martha at being lied to. "That wasn't very wise. You can't go around having an affair with the Doctor," Martha ranted. "Or Peter, come to that. Have you any idea how warped he is?"

"I'm beginning to get something along that line," Donna retorted.

Martha bristled with indignation. "He's not human!"

"You don't say," Donna muttered sarcastically.

"Will you once and for all listen to me properly?!" Martha beseeched her. "The Doctor is still in love with Rose. You should have heard him go on and on about her all the time. And now that he's Peter, he still dreams about being in love with her."

Donna had suspected as much about Rose in the Doctor's life, but the mention of Peter's dreams raised her curiosity. "How do you know that?"

"Because he used to keep a dream diary; that's how I know." She then guilty admitted, "He used to leave it lying about, so I sneaked a peek."

"So where's this dream diary now?" Donna wondered. She wanted to see it for herself, but she needed to persuade Martha to hand it over with a decent reason. "If it fell into the wrong hands it could be dangerous."

"It used to be in his dressing room, hidden above his clothes rack," Martha supplied. "Do you think we ought to go and check it?"

"Well, d'uh! Of course I do," Donna approved. "Let's go right this second."

They practically ran to the backstage of the theatre; all reprimands forgotten and concern for the Doctor in its place. Soon they gained entry into Peter's dressing room and stood scanning his possessions with interested.

"When you say 'diary', what size and colour am I looking for?" Donna asked before she touched anything.

"It's more like a blue exercise book, like we used in school for science," Martha explained. "About this big," she indicated, holding up her hands.

"Is this it?" she wondered a few minutes or so later, pulling out what could have been a stack of papers from behind a manual for the wire pulley mechanism for the coffins in his act.

"That's it!" Martha enthused; and they rushed together to flick through the pages, placing the book down on the dressing table.

"All these people," Donna commented as she viewed little sketches of each incarnation of the Doctor. And then her gaze fell on one particular mini portrait of a young woman in a modern Veronica Lake styled pose. "Is that Rose?"

"I assume so," Martha agreed. "I know those are the Daleks," she pointed out in another image. "And that's obviously the TARDIS."

In fact, there were several images of the TARDIS across the pages; in closeup or featured in the artwork behind the main object, like a sentinel.

"He's very talented, isn't he," Donna remarked as she viewed the artwork. "I have trouble drawing the curtains, let alone watches, men and monsters."

"Has he added to it more recently," Martha wondered, as she flicked through more pages towards the back. "Oh!" she gasped.

She had landed on a set of pages of drawings featuring both her and Donna. One page was of her with Nurse Hame; the cat captain called Brannigan he'd met with his kittens, and her in a mini skirt during their 1960s jaunt. Donna was drawn in a wedding dress, with a giant spider, a disapproving groom, and the Doctor himself alongside her, laughing on a Segway. The image that caught Martha's attention the most was a wedding pose; him putting a ring on Donna's finger, with the TARDIS in the background.

"Yes, that happened," Donna nonchalantly dismissed, closing the book decisively shut. "I told you how we met." In truth, she wanted to hug the images close to her chest and cry her eyes out. But what good would that do? "We'd better get something to eat. My treat this time."

For Donna, the book would remain intentionally forgotten and unmentioned until Peter, or perhaps the Doctor, wanted to share any knowledge of what it contained.

Respecting her friend's avoidance of explaining the ring incident, Martha allowed herself to be distracted into going to buy themselves some pizza for lunch. But she certainly hoped that Donna would confide the truth very soon.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** sorry to anyone that was waiting for an update.

* * *

 **Part 8**

.

One of the weirdest new developments in Donna's life was how happy everyone in the theatre seemed to be lately. It had been Carlos the backstage electrician who had voiced it first. "Dunno what's happened to Peter lately, but you've used some awesome magic on him to make him like this."

As if on cue, Peter had sauntered passed and given her a beautiful smile as he went by. Not one word of criticism had come from his lips.

"Yeah, that's what I mean," Carlos had confirmed. "Whatever it is, keep doing it."

"Oh, I'm not doing anything to him," she had modestly denied.

In reply, Carlos had rasped a filthy laugh. "Must be what he's doing to you."

Before she could utter a decent repost, Carlos had gone back to his lighting rig, but it had Donna thinking. Was everyone aware of her intimate relationship with Peter? Although she wasn't surprised that they'd become the subject of gossip. Not in the least.

Just then, Peter came running back up to her and given her a resounding smacker on the lips. "Forgot to give you that," he excused himself when she looked stunned at his public display of affection. "See you later, babe."

Well, that answered that one, she silently noted; and treated herself to watching his backside saunter away in those black leather trousers of his. Then, when she couldn't linger any longer, she made her way to her office to finish off her tasks there.

* * *

Sharing a meal with Martha alone together seemed to have gotten rarer and rarer, so when the opportunity to share a hot drink finally presented itself one morning in their office, Donna grasped the chance to ask as nonchalantly as possible, "All the vampire stuff in Peter's apartment, what's that all about?"

"I'm not quite sure," Martha admitted. "On the day I first met the Doctor, he was attacked by a Plasmavore who sucked his blood to avoid detection from some rhino police, so perhaps the TARDIS included that in his new personal history by making him think his parents were killed by vampires. That's my theory, anyway."

"It's a good enough reason to avoid them in the future," Donna agreed. "Rhino police?" she questioned, stifling a laugh of derision.

"Yes," Martha confirmed, and then giggled at how absurd it sounded. "I don't know what's weirder, that, a cat nun, seeing a real witch or being touched by a deadly statue." She then shuddered in memory. "The statue. I never want to see another one again."

"Good job they're mainly made of plastic around here," Donna consoled her, using a brief touch on the arm as she spoke. "But how will I know if I've seen an Aubertide?"

"No idea." Martha shrugged in confusion. "I haven't actually seen one either. But the Doctor seemed terrified of meeting up with them."

Donna sighed. "Never mind. You'll both be back to normal very soon."

"What about you?" Martha asked over the top of her coffee cup as she daintily sipped it. "What are you going to do now?"

Donna shrugged and mentally drew her protective cloak around herself. "I'm not sure, to be honest. Go to the airport, catch my flight home, and see what happens after that."

"He might ask you to come along too," Martha suggested. "If he does, I don't mind. It's been nice being able to share the experience with someone like this."

"Thanks," Donna announced her gratitude, "but I get the feeling I'll be high on his embarrassment list for quite some time."

Martha quietly noted the truth of that. "Do you regret it?" she risked asking.

"No." Donna sagely shook her head. "I knew what I was possibly letting myself in for when I caved and let him kiss me. Bit hard not to at my age. And I love him. Why would I want to miss out on a couple of weeks of happiness? Not everyone gets that chance. Oh, I know it won't last beyond seconds once he changes back, but for now, right this minute, Peter loves me."

How could she word this properly, Martha pondered. "Won't it be weird though?"

"It'll be like one of those wartime marriages you often hear about," Donna reasoned. "You know the sort, where they met someone, married them and then were widowed within days. Those women never say they regret it."

They both sat in companionable silence, unable to offer any more words on the subject; so they finished their coffees and wordlessly signalled that they'd get back to their daily chores.

* * *

As often happened during their dates, after the evening show had finished, Donna ignored any outstanding paperwork to offer Peter a hastily grabbed quick snack before other, more pressing matters, were allowed to completely distract them from the world outside. Matters like expressing their newfound joy in each other. Soon they lay tangled and naked on Peter's bed, still cuddling, giving in to their need to caress each other in gentle sweeps.

As Donna turned to place kisses on his chest, she pondered, "You know, at times like these, I could want to do this forever."

"We'd starve to death," he noted and pretended to wince when she inevitably glared at him.

"Not like that, you prawn! I meant you and me, all snuggled up for the rest of our lives, needing nobody else," she explained.

"Still sounds like we'd only starve to death eventually," he risked saying, and playfully yelped when she swatted his arm. In consolation, he languidly kissed her lips. "But for the record, I want that too," he whispered against her skin.

"My mum will have a field day when she learns about you," she mused. Then in mocking tones, she impersonated Sylvia ranting, "Call that a real relationship? A rebound, that's what I call it. You've jumped on the first bloke who's done so much as look at you; and _he_ is merely practising."

Donna then sighed, thinking how Sylvia would react to seeing the Doctor on her doorstep as a prospective son-in-law; the man she'd considered had ruined the wedding. Little did she know…

"Hey," Peter softly murmured, bringing her out of her thoughts. "If this is practising, then I intend to do it until I get it perfect with you, because you deserve the best of me. I love you."

"And I love you," she readily echoed. "Once you've gained my love, in any shape or form, it's there forever."

"I certainly know what shape and form I love about you," Peter schmoozed, guiding her lips back onto his mouth.

But she didn't argue with him. For love had surely formed in her heart for Peter. His vulnerable soul had cried out to her for love, and she had willingly taken it into her tender care, not fearing the consequences.

That statement would come back later to haunt her at some point, but for now, Peter did his best to make her not regret the declaration; in his own special way.

* * *

A streak of green whizzed across the early dawn sky, startling Donna as she made her way back from the bathroom. "Did you see that?" she whispered in awe, hastening to look out the tinted window.

"See what?" Peter mumbled from behind her. "Come back to bed."

She stared off to the horizon, trying to glimpse something over the mountain tops. "I thought I saw a meteorite falling down."

"Then it can fucking wait until some prat is awake enough to go and poke it," he grumbled. "Are you coming back to bed or do I have to drag you here?"

"Hark at Captain Caveman over there," she dismissed him. "Aren't you interested to see what has landed from outer space?"

"No, I am fucking not," he testily replied. "It's taken light years to get here so it can wait a few more hours before I care about it. Now stop fucking me about and get over here."

"It'll be on the morning news," she told herself as she returned to his offered embrace. "Perhaps we could drive out and have a look."

"Whatever you say," he sleepily mumbled from somewhere against her neck. He had quickly nestled there. "Just let me fucking sleep, will you."

She smiled despite herself, filing every precious moment away to treasure at a later date. For now, she felt loved and secure, and refused to dwell on when that would all disappear.

* * *

Some hours later, she was alone in the office, finishing some invoice paperwork and trying to avoid thinking about the approaching evening with Peter.

A sudden rap came from the office doorway, so Donna looked up from her keyboard to see who was disturbing her work. Framed in the entrance was a handsome dark-haired man dressed all in black. "Parcel for you. May I?" he requested in a clear British accent, throwing out his hand, obviously expecting an invitation to enter.

Was there anyone in the building who wasn't British, she idly wondered. "I wasn't expecting a parcel," she told him as she waved him in.

He presented her with a sheet to sign, and smugly grinned at her. "Perhaps you have an admirer," he suggested.

Snorting her scorn, she took hold of the box in his hands; but to her surprise, he didn't let go. "What's your game?"

"You sound different to everyone else around here," he commented. "Are you the only one?"

"Why? Going to form an ex-pats group for us all, are you?" Donna retorted. She deliberately gazed at his name badge. "If you're feeling lonely, Jerry, there's an Irish bar in the Mandalay you might be interested in."

He laughed an empty laugh and then pointed at her knowingly. "See you soon," he promised, and then sauntered out of the office.

Donna instantly shuddered. There had been something about the bloke that had been incredibly creepy. At least she could tick the Irish bar off her list of places to visit in the near future. No way was she going to risk running into him again if she could avoid it.

* * *

It had all happened so suddenly, one minute they'd all been in the hotel bar having a celebration drink together, with Peter standing with his arm possessively around her waist; and the next minute, or so it seemed, she was standing in the rubble looking for survivors.

The rubble of what remained of the theatre and bar was shrewn haphazardly around her, and Donna could only gasp as the enormity of it all hit her. Three dead, possibly more; and no sign of Peter or the Doctor. Her head just couldn't get passed the loud whooping noises of the attending emergency vehicles or the bright lights used to search for victims. Even worse were the camera lights from the swarming news broadcasting jackals who were only interested in their scoop rather than the emotions of the stunned people they kept interviewing.

Donna stumbled, losing her footing amongst the fallen brickwork, pieces of plasterboard and planks of broken wood, not knowing where to start looking first. All her new friends were under there, somewhere. And what about Peter? Was he dead? Were they torturing him right that second? Too many questions to consider as the sounds of normal nightlife began to resume their volume.

A bright light suddenly illuminated her, and a shadowy figure loomed large before thrusting a microphone under her noise. As confusion battled in her brain, she heard a female voice ask, "Can you tell you us what happened?"

She brought a hand up to push away the soot-laden wisp of hair that obscured her vision. "I don't really know. There was a man thing asking for someone, and when we said we didn't know where they were, the theatre bar and this side of the hotel was blown up."

"You were at the awards ceremony recently," the journalist noted. In their mind they were hastily compiling before and after pictures of this woman survivor in front of her. The contrast between a glamorous dress and dishevelled bewilderment was too much to resist. "I saw you attending with Peter Vincent who was nominated for best newcomer. Was he in the building?"

To the journalist's delight, Donna's face crumpled in grief. "Yes. I can't find him. He's dead, I know he is," she wailed. "They're all under here somewhere. Help me look! For God's sake start looking and helping!"

She idly noted a paramedic approaching her. "This way." The EMT gently took hold of her arm and led her away towards some comfort and away from the world's prying eyes.

Alas, the journalist was unmoved by such a scene. This was extremely newsworthy; and might even boost them onto national television.

A few minutes later, Donna was sat with a foil blanket around her and a drink in her hand. There may have been a large bruise down her left arm and a bandage around her head to shield the gash on her forehead, but the worse part, as rescue workers sought through the rubble, was not knowing how or being able to help. She quietly resolved to take first aide classes a soon as she could when she got back home.

Home. The thought brought instant tears to her eyes again. Soon she would return with her tail between her legs; just like always. All these good intentions and things still went to rack and ruin. With that in mind, she pulled out her phone from her pocket and, with shaky fingers, dialled her mother's number.

It went straight to voicemail, so she started to leave a message. "Hello Mum. I don't know if you've seen the news yet about the explosion in Las Vegas, but I'm fine. Still in one piece. Anyway, I'll call you later…."

"Donna!" her mother's voice interrupted her departure from the call as she obviously snatched the phone up from its cradle. "Sorry, I couldn't get to the phone in time to pick it up. What's happened? I was just about to go over to Suzette's. Has there been a bomb? These terrorists get everywhere. What were they protesting about?"

"It wasn't political, Mum," Donna explained. "More sort of alien. This human-looking thing came into the bar where we were celebrating Alison's birthday and demanded to know where Peter was."

"Peter, your new boyfriend? Oh Donna," Sylvia sympathised. "Why did they want him?"

"Who knows. Probably thought he could so some magic trick and help them disappear from here and end up back home. So we hid him under a table and Martha sneaked him out, but…"

She thought of that desperate moment, Martha shielding him whilst defying the thing that had taken over that weird bloke Jerry. Both Donna and Martha had already arranged that whenever the Aubertide turned up, they'd protect Peter/the Doctor no matter what happened; in any way that they could. So when something decidedly fishy started to occur, they'd shared a glance of understanding and then shoved Peter out of harm's way, below a table. That had closely been followed by the bar itself, the staff corridor, and then finally the wider entranceway beyond that.

"Follow me and I'll get you to the TARDIS," Martha had whispered to Peter as she led him towards safety.

"What the fuck is that?" Peter had quizzed. "And where's Donna? We have to wait for her."

"No, she's okay. We agreed on this."

"Agreed? I fucking didn't agree about anything!" Peter quietly raged.

"I mean me and Donna have an arrangement. As for you…. Just get to my bedroom," Martha had insisted.

Peter held his hands up in surrender. "Look, I know we're friends and all that, but I'm taken."

Didn't she know it? "Not like that, you idiot!" she had hissed at him. "I'm trying to save your neck."

Back in the bar, Jerry wasn't in the mood for games. He brought out a gun of some sort and waved forward Carlos to join him; or rather, the person that had once been Carlos. "Where is he? Somebody here knows where the Doctor is!" he yelled at his captured audience.

Everyone stared blankly back at him.

"We don't know who this doctor is that you want," Alison bravely defended them. "We have nothing for you!"

"I think you do." Jerry had merely sneered at her, sauntering closer; and then suddenly lurched sideways to grab hold of Donna, placing a weird gun at her head.

In hindsight, it hadn't been wise for Donna to ask, "Did you get that out of a Jamboree bag? I've seen more convincing guns in a Christmas cracker."

Instantly, Jerry had aimed the gun upwards and blasted a large hole in the ceiling. Debris came shattering down. "Do you believe it's real now? I want the Doctor and _you_ know where he is."

Something large and painful hit her arm, wounding her head as it came down, but Donna knew she had to be strong. "And why would I know that?" she countered.

"Because I heard you discussing him with her…" He pointed the end of his weapon towards where Martha had been standing moments beforehand. Not seeing her, he dismissed her absence to concentrate on the human woman in front of him. She ought to be able to provide any answer he needed.

"Not only that, I've seen you cosying up with him, all lovey dovey," 'Carlos' maintained. "You are his girlfriend, so he will care if I kill you."

"No, I'm not," she hotly denied, alternating her gaze between the two aliens. "My boyfriend was Peter, but anyway, he won't care tuppence; we broke up."

The gun was prodded into her jaw as she became the main target.

"Liar! I heard you call him 'the Doctor' to your friend so don't make me angry," 'Carlos' threatened.

"Bring him to me," Jerry demanded.

Garnering every breath she could suck in, Donna shouted at the top of her voice, "Everybody run! Get out of here!"

As everyone started to run towards the exit, she heard Jerry quite clearly behind her order, "Begin the bombardment!"

Immediately, something large and explosive struck the building; and she was knocked out cold.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I've started a sequel but I'm not sure I should continue with it...

* * *

 **Part 9**

.

"Tonight," Peter had whispered into her ear as they sipped their celebratory drinks in the theatre bar, "we need to talk about when we return to England. You and me stuff, because I'm warning you, I don't intend it to all finish next week."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he had teased. "I'm not giving away my surprise that easily."

"But that's what you are, Peter; extremely easy."

He smirked. "Some things about me are easy to gain whereas more precious parts are harder to win."

Her head tilted in contemplation. "Are you going to make a grand announcement of some sort?"

"As I said," he replied quietly and enigmatically, "all that is for later on this evening, when we are all alone."

"Promises, promises," she retorted, loving the mischievous gleam in his eyes and his suppressed excitement. "If this turns out to be that threesome you keep fantasying about….," she threatened in mocking tones.

"Not necessarily the threesome you'll be expecting me to want. Now stop pestering me, because it is a surprise," he carefully enunciated. "And I won't tell you yet."

"You spoil all my fun," she pretended to gripe.

"Spoiling you is the aim of the game," he agreed, and gave her a whimsical grin.

* * *

His smile hadn't been so whimsical when Martha had pulled him away from the theatre bar when those men had appeared, and forcefully suggested they go to her bedroom that instant.

"Martha, what the fuck is this all about? I know you have to have your little secrets, but this is ridiculous!"

She merely shushed him. "We have to get you back to my apartment so that I can give you something."

"No thanks."

"Peter!" she cried in desperation. "I swear Donna knows about this and agreed you should come here," she stated as she opened the door to her apartment and led the way to her bedroom. "You'll understand as soon as you see what's been waiting for you."

"If this is one of those prankster camera shows, I swear I will fucking break your head," Peter grouched, following cautiously behind. "Because there is nothing you can show that will remotely interest….. What the fuck is a police box doing in your cupboard?!"

"It's the TARDIS," she announced. "And this," she continued, rifling through the contents of the top drawer of her dressing table and then plucking out an object to show him, "is yours."

"A pocket watch," he warily noted and considered her through narrowed eyes. "Why the fuck would I want a Victorian pocket watch? It's not exactly my style."

Martha shook her head. "It's not Victorian. The markings show that it is Gallifreyan."

His mouth moved silently over the word. It felt familiar, and yet he was scared of that fact.

"Here, hold it," she offered, and dropped it onto his palm.

He slightly bounced it within his grasp, to assess its weight and possible value. Then the weirdest thing possible happened: it spoke to him. Not only that, it presented him with images in his mind. A happy future, dancing at his wedding, holding a new-born baby, living the life of a contented family man, before his life ebbed away and the inevitable happened to take him away from his precious wife. A wife who distinctly looked like Donna.

"Oh!" he gasped, throwing himself backwards and away from Martha. "Does this prove Harry Potter could be real? Are you a witch?"

"No, I'm not," she sadly admitted with a shake of her head, "but you are magical in your own way. I know you've dreamt about the Doctor. Seen all the things he has achieved."

"What! How do you know that?" he stuttered in shock.

"I've seen your sketchbook where you draw the things you dream about," she confessed. "That man, the Doctor, you are him, but you've been hidden for months now."

Peter tried to calm his rapid breaths, his mind seeking for something rational to use as an anchor. "I can't be."

"I'm afraid you are," she insisted. "You placed your essence into that fob watch and became a human for a while when really you are…."

"Time Lord," he finished, using the words the watch fed him. "That's what he is, isn't it? And what are you?"

She squared her shoulders. "I'm Martha Jones, human medical student and companion to the Doctor."

Fighting against the rising tide of memories, Peter snapped, "And what exactly do you do for him? Run some sort of alien fan club?"

Her eyes filled with indignant tears. "I stop him being lonely."

"Why is he so lonely that you need to be there?"

"Because all his people are dead; he's the only one left."

"Oh, that's rich, that is," he fumed. "You attach yourself to a wandering alien who's some Billy no mates and you expect me to want to go back to that. Well, I won't!"

"You must," she tearfully pleaded. "If he doesn't stop those creatures then they will bleed the whole world dry and perhaps the rest of the universe."

"So he just turns up like some cross between Superman and Fireman Sam," Peter spat in disgust. "What sort of a life is that? No, you can keep the fuck away from me."

"You've got it wrong," she pressed on, wiping desperately at her eyes. "He is so much more than a cartoon character or a children's hero. He is wonderfully intelligent, saving the world because it is right to do so."

"And what is he to you, personally?"

"Me? I love him," Martha confessed on a whisper. "But that doesn't matter. Those people out there are more important. If you care about Donna and the others, you have to open the watch and become the Doctor again."

Peter eyed the watch still resting on his palm. "But…" The words halted on his tongue. All that he needed to say wasn't meant for Martha's ears. His reluctance to change had nothing to do with her; and the unfairness of it all wasn't her fault either. There was no one to blame except the creatures that had invaded the bar.

There was a scream as the whole building shock like a grumbling volcano, and then the world tilted. He raced out into the corridor outside, knowing instinctively that they needed to get out of the building before it possibly collapsed around them. And as he looked at Martha running by his side, it seemed natural to see her there, as though it had often happened.

Once more he considered the watch in his hand; the temptation was to open it, let this Doctor take over and win the day. That's what this all boiled down to, didn't it? Nobody really wanted Peter Vincent to survive, not when they were rooting for the Doctor to take control. And then he spotted Donna through one of the windows overlooking the front-facing car park. His simple human heart panged with regret - she would miss him and their future together that the watch had shown him. If he changed back into the Doctor he would be sacrificing her too.

Then, as they reached the main doors to the entrance of the building, he saw Jerry pacing up and down outside, calling out to goad him.

"Come out, Doctor! Come out, come out, wherever you are, you coward!" Jerry yelled. "We've destroyed this hotel but if you don't show yourself, we will have to entice you out by targeting other hotels along The Strip. These buildings blow up spectacularly." Jerry then slightly turned as though he had only just noticed Donna sitting with the other victims of the explosion. "Oh look! Isn't that your girlfriend? I'm sure she'd love to return to our ship with us for a bite to eat."

It didn't take much effort to regard the damage the Aubertide had already wreaked, and the loss of life. The decision practically made it itself. Peter pressed himself against the nearest pillar, out of sight, to gather his thoughts and garner his bravery. If he didn't do this, he'd probably end up dead anyway or he'd want to end it all if his friends were touched. Friend. One particular friend. But he had already lost her too. Squeezing his hand around the watch in his trouser pocket, he felt the flow of time swirl around him, and then he stepped forward.

"Did you want me?" he questioned Jerry. "I'll come if you leave everybody else alone."

"Ah!" Jerry smirked in triumph. "Just the man we wanted. Grab him, Carlos!"

Donna threw her hands up into her hair as she watched the encounter, unable to believe what she saw. "Peter! No!" she had cried in despair as he was dragged away. "No," she repeated more feebly, knowing he was lost.

That was when she had dipped to scrabble about in the wreckage more fervently to help rescue her friends from the bar. If she could save just one life, then losing him would be worth it, she kept telling herself. The problem was, she didn't belief it, so as she sought out a buried victim her heart silently broke in two.

* * *

It had seemed natural to sit with the other survivors in what was left of the hotel lobby; but they all had loved ones to return to. So she sat staring forlornly at the doors of the wedding chapel, remembering the last time she'd sat there with Peter. Speak of the devil, she saw him approach; except this was no longer Peter Vincent.

He silently sat himself down next to her, his face set in a pitying expression.

"Oh! Hello Doctor," she cagily greeted him. He's alive, her heart had gleefully sung whilst her head reminded her that this encounter would dash her dreams. "Have all the Aubertides been dealt with?"

"Yes, Donna Noble," he stiffly replied. "All gone and tidied away. You're safe now."

"I saw Martha when I got back. She's okay and said she will wait for you in the TARDIS." Trying to act nonchalant, she continued, "She can't wait for you to be back to normal."

"What about you? What can't you wait for?" he asked.

"Who me?" She gulped nervously. "Only a decent cup of tea back home and to see my family again."

He continued to stare at her.

Now unnerved, she muttered, "For what's worth, I'm sorry. I tried not take advantage of your situation, honest I did, but Peter was very persuasive."

"About Peter," he began, and she waited for the axe to fall and destroy her hopes. "He never truly existed."

"I know," she admitted on a sniff. Don't burst into tears. Oh gawd, don't cry, she ordered herself. "But for a little while he sort of did."

He nodded as he brought a hand up to rub his left ear. "Thank you for looking after him."

She decided to ignore any possible innuendo. This was the Doctor talking after all, whereas Peter would have made a filthy joke out of it. "All part of the job," she dismissed.

"You carried it out exceptionally well," he complimented.

"Almost too well," she replied. "Sorry. Mentioned the unmentionable again. You must hate that. Never mind, you're back to being you now and you can get back to travelling the stars with Martha."

"About that," he cautiously began. "Donna, I can't give you the life Peter Vincent would have done."

"Too right you can't," she snorted in self-scorn. "I already knew that. It's because you love Rose. Yes, I heard all about that from Martha. Practically rubbed her nose in it at every single opportunity, from what I've heard. Not very nice of you when a simple 'I'm taken' would have sufficed, but that's a bloke for you, I suppose."

"I'm not a bloke," he muttered in disgust, "I'm a Time Lord."

"Same thing in the end; still emotionally repressed so pretends it will all go away if you do nothing about it. I know. I've been the butt end of all that too many times for my liking."

"Donna, I.."

"Don't make promises you have no intention of keeping. Please don't," she quietly begged. "It's best I let you two get back to what you were doing and go home. It was a lovely holiday here in Vegas. Thank you for that."

"But what will you do now?"

"I've got my flight ticket. After that, who knows," she pondered with a shrug. "Doesn't matter now Peter's gone."

He gazed longingly at her. Just say it, he told himself. "All that Peter is and was, I can be too," he softly insisted.

"What, show off magician and womaniser?" she queried. "Somehow I don't think that is the real you. But in his weird way he loved me, and I know for certain that you can't offer that."

"I'm sorry."

"You and me both," she acknowledged. "Anyway, it was nice to meet you again, Doctor. Hopefully it might happen again one day."

"The TARDIS brought you to me."

"Pardon?"

"The TARDIS," he repeated. "This is the second time she's brought you to me."

"I wonder why. Perhaps I'm cheap," she commented and immediately cringed at the double meaning. "Value for money," she hastily tacked on.

"You're brilliant, Donna Noble. I wish you could see that."

"One day," she wished. "So..." She silently changed the wording in her mind until it seemed right. "How did you become human?"

"Surely Martha explained," he blustered to avoid answering the question. But Donna glared at him in exasperation, so he supplied, "I used a device called a chameleon arch to rewrite my body cells."

"Wouldn't that be painful?" she instantly wondered.

"Very," he agreed with a wan smile.

"And what about changing back from a human? Was that as painful?"

"Nowhere near as bad," he comforted her.

"Is it possible for you to change again, should you suddenly fancy being human for a while."

He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Yes, I suppose I could."

"And would you want to?"

"No," he firmly stated. "I would not."

"Oh," she murmured in understanding. Why would he consider changing just for her? The whole idea was daft, she chastised herself. "That answers that one. Does it mean though, should you have some mad whim, that you could change yourself into being king of the frogs?"

He immediately burst into delighted laughter, pleased and grateful for the break in tension between them. "Only you, Donna Noble, could ask such a thing," he noted, still giggling at the absurdity. "But for the record, I presume an amphibious transformation is possible. Not likely though."

"Good to know," she replied, grinning at him. It was good to see him laughing after the tense day they'd just had. It gave her a decent memory to consider him later with rather than all the death and destruction.

As if he'd just thought of it, he suggested, "Come with me." When she baulked, he amended the offer to, "You could come with us."

"That's nice of you, and I seriously would have jumped on the chance when I first came here, but now it all seems rather pointless. You've got Martha to fawn all over you and keep you company. What good would I do? One mention of you pining for Rose and I'd want to flatten you." His eyebrows tweaked upwards. "Not like that," she warned. "I mean as in giving you a well-deserved smack in the mouth because you really have been awful to Martha by dragging her up like you have."

"I didn't mean to," he contritely admitted.

"Anyway, you won't want me hanging around like a bad smell, but it was nice of you to ask. Perhaps another time when the hurtful memories have lessened, or Martha has the good sense to bugger off and leave you on your own."

"Oi!" he indignantly protested.

But Donna merely giggled, stopping when she realised she was enjoying it too much and that it was a little bit hysterical. "It's been nice seeing you again, Doctor, and I mean that despite all the..." She waved a hand between them to denote their former relationship. "Anyway, take care, and perhaps we will get another chance at trying this one day without the unnecessary romance nonsense getting in the way."

"I'd like that," he agreed, grinning warmly at her.

She turned, got up and walked away before she showed herself up by flinging herself on him, crushing the life out of his slim body in doing so. The fact that he hadn't moved to hug her first cemented it in her mind; he didn't really want her with him, she was just an embarrassment.

And yet, as he watched her retreat to lick her wounds elsewhere, his hearts broke. Never would he force her to go with him; instead, he would let her keep her dignity.

Making his way back to the TARDIS, he was soon aware of the comforting presence of Martha by his side. His ever-faithful companion. As his eyes settled on her, she asked, "Did you say goodbye to Donna?"

"Yes." He grimaced before supplying, "She's going back home to London."

"We could still get her to come with us. It's not too late. All I have to do is run to catch her up."

"No, leave her." With her grief, he wanted to add. He had deeply hurt these two women. Unintentionally maybe but the act still existed. "Thank you, Martha Jones, for looking after me," he sincerely expressed his gratitude as he pulled her in for a hug. It was brief but meaningful. "The Old Girl needs refuelling, so we'll stop off at Cardiff first," he babbled, opening the TARDIS door and letting her enter first. Turning to shut the door after him, he took the chance of one last look at the crumpled remains of the hotel and his recent love life before continuing, "We won't stop long. Just a quick soak in the Rift energy..."

The TARDIS was too busy dematerialising to listen to the rest of his bluster. Her pilot was hurting, and she wanted to bring him his ginger friend back as soon as possible, but she also had to keep Donna safely away for the time being. Allowing her to fall into evil hands like the rest of them would in the next year would not do her pilot any good; he had to maintain his happy place to mentally retreat to and cling to the hope it provided.


End file.
